Dear Twenty-Two,

 

I’m only going to shout this once;

my mouth hurts,

my throat,

my teeth,

my heart and soul.

So, listen up!

 

I remember—

You are incredibly overwhelmed,

changing the bedpan,

keeping the sheets clean,

muting your heartache.

 

Your emotions are jangled.

You are a mess.

Yet, you are holding it together.   Really together.

 

 

Three things I would impart

And pray they find your heart:

 

When she dies, she will be gone forever.

No one ever understands that until it’s done.

You think you do; you don’t.

 

Take time to hold her hand,

as well as change the bedpan.

 

Take time to smooth her sore shoulders,

as well as the sheets.

 

Take a breath, a deep one,

and let her scent linger,

embedded in your memory.

 

Take time to let her frail arms hold you;

You are going to need it later,

when there are no long hugs

to keep you from shaking,

from shattering…

 

When I have none, but those remembered.

 

Cry. It’s ok.

I remember—

you think it will make her sad,

cause her more pain,

look like you can’t handle the job.

 

It doesn’t matter if you can handle it;

It matters if she knows you feel the sorrow too.

 

 

 

II

You are going to need to recall these emotions—

How she handles it with grace,

no matter how undignified

the hair loss,

the vomit,

the over-medicated moments.

 

How her abilities vanish,

one by one,

and she pretends…

she doesn’t notice you noticing.

 

How to walk tall—

even from a wheelchair,

a scarf on your head,

a bruised vein in your arm.

 

 

You. Will. Need. To. Know. This. Later.

There is a final exam.

 

III Final Point

Don’t let the lessons slide:

 

Someday,

you will have daughters

who need to be told—

over and over again—

that your pain is…

Not. Their. Fault.

 

That

Every

Little

Thing

they do for your comfort,

is a gift

you receive,

welcome,

and cherish.

 

You will need

to build moments,

just like Mom does,

that will be engraved

on their hearts—

Moments

of joy,

of selflessness,

of unbelievable strength through tears—

because that is what she taught you.

 

That is your legacy,

from her,

to us,

to the next generation

of beautifully strong women.

 

Women of dignity.

 

Women of courage.

 

Whose glory is not their hair…but their heart.

 

Dear Twenty-Three,

 

She is gone.

You did your best. I remember—

Now, breathe.