Mom—perched on her hospital bed, shoulders curved like a pill bug—struggles to rise on her own but refuses help. Puff pastry has replaced shapely calves, slim ankle. Blue toenails poke from ballooning feet. Arms like sticks she snapped on camping trips, fingers like kindling. I memorize what will soon disappear—the concave of her clavicle, the sharpness of her once-jowled jaw. The panic pooling in her eyes. I want to obey her wishes, protect her pride, but I wrap her in my arms and lift because it would be so much worse were she to pee the bed.
Sue Clayton
23/7/2022 07:51:23 am
The woes of ageing, but I'm sure she'd rather lose her pride and keep her dignity.
Karen Zey
24/7/2022 02:14:08 pm
Straight to the heart. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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