Last Days. Final Sunrises.

Mom is receiving Hospice care at home. She made the decision only two weeks ago, and we are already in the last days. It has gone so much faster than anyone anticipated. We were thinking many weeks or maybe several months. It’s hard to believe that just three months ago she was working the farm and thinking about preparations for this year’s flower plantings, no one suspecting what was just around the corner.

I’m spending these hours at her bedside. She’s no longer able to open her eyes or talk, but her hearing is sharp, and she gives indications that she both hears and understands our words. I’ve spent this time recalling memories, sharing my hopes and dreams, singing hymns, and thanking her for her constant love, grace and goodness in my life and especially in the lives of my children.

Like me, Mom has always loved mornings out in the field. Particularly given the special and varied ways the sun spills across the back forty when it first rises to meet each new day.

So I’ve begun writing down vivid descriptions of each sunrise out back, then curling up beside her in her hospital bed and whispering them in her ear. If she can’t open her eyes to see out the window, perhaps her mind can at least create the image from my words.

From Monday, May 25:

“Fog has gathered in every hollow and low place of the fields. It pools there like spilled milk. When the sun finally began rising, it didn’t burst into the morning in a blaze of its vibrant yellow center. It came softly. Gently. It slowly edged its way in, dressed in pale apricot and watercolor pinks. Brushing the whole world awake with its skilled artisan hands.

For a while, the fog and sunlight danced together. It was impossibly lovely. The mist curled and drifted as the light moved through it. Nothing on earth seemed to be in a hurry this morning. The early hours were perfectly content to just linger in their own self for a bit. We can slow down a little too, Mom, and linger here, and savor this moment.

Even the air this morning was sweet enough to sip. Yes, Mom! I could taste it on my tongue! Like a bowl of creamy vanilla ice cream topped with with warm caramel melting into ripe peaches and juicy strawberries fresh from the garden.

By the time I crossed the fields to your door, the sun had climbed a little higher, and the fog was already beginning to slowly surrender, disappearing in small puffs.

The air was left soft and glowing, and it remains so. We get to soften now and glow a little too.”

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