Time to say goodbye.
Silence. Awful silence.
Then.
A last embrace.
Emotions to the fore.
Tears mixed with anger.
The inevitable question.
Why?
Rationalising doesn’t help.
We all have to go, sometime.
I know that damn it!
Medication for the pain
every four hours.
An alarm clock
ticking her like away.
She didn’t want the operation.
‘I’m 83 and I’ve had a good life’
Could it have been better?
Too late for recrimination.
In the early distance a cock crowed thrice.
Too soon cock – too soon.
A month to the day, my mother died.
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