Rebecca: To Tie Firmly, To Bind
She wanted me to call her Rebecca.
I complied.
But not at the end.
Twenty-three years ago today,
My brother called.
She’d died of a stroke in the night.
“Mom’s dead?” “Mom’s dead?”
My then six-year-old son reported my reaction.
I have no memory of my words.
Only incredulity
Only dismay
Only shattering
How I remember her final words:
“You, your brother, and your sister are my
Greatest gift to the world.”
Mom’s final gift to me
A blessing without end
Rebecca’s memory a blessing.