Thursday, September 3, 2009

Weeks ago, when he was so very ill, she began.

Sitting at his bedside, she read to him for hours. The sound of her voice, the characters brought to life, distracted him from illness as nothing else could. He began to look forward to the ritual, even as he began to heal.

Nightly he asks, "will you read tonight?"

Nightly, as I sit in the kitchen, I hear their voices echoing down the hall. Laughter fills the room.

I think she looks forward to the reading as much as he does.

They converse, he and she, about things other than the book they are reading.

Talking about school, friends, life. Nurturing the roots of their relationship.

I wonder if they both long for this time together as the day of her leaving grows closer.

And perhaps not just my mother's heart recognizes the swiftly passing days...


4 comments:

ageffert said...

Life moves now in such fast measure. I know your mother's heart, my friend and kindred soul. It's like grasping sand, though--rather fruitless to try to hold on. I feel your tender heart this evening and say a prayer for each of you. Love, Annette

ageffert said...

Life moves now in such fast measure. I know your mother's heart, my friend and kindred soul. It's like grasping sand, though--rather fruitless to try to hold on. I feel your tender heart this evening and say a prayer for each of you. Love, Annette

Traci said...

That is just precious she's been reading to him. Thanks for the reminder to slow down and take it all in.

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