The Death of Laura

by Jean V. Dickson

Starved fingers with gnarled knobs of knuckles
lie across the crisp line of white linen;
the cancer has dined upon her flesh,
shrinking her until her body
only gently waves the waffled weave
of the ocean-blue hospital blanket.

Her breath comes tortured now,
ribs rattling beneath each tide,
precious bubbles breaking loose
within her lungs
to join the rising waters.
A stop - is it over?
Waiting with both hope and dread.
But no, the wasted body shudders
and tremors move the waves once more.

Her soiled diapers foul the air,
she cannot walk and is denied
the strength to speak.
Her lungs fight against
the rising waters
- a slow drowning and
as she gurgles on her air
I scream at the nurse
"Can nothing be done?"

Returning steps echo vibrant, healthy -
within her hand a coiling tube.
She places the plastic snake upon
the stainless cart
and begins the procedure of mercy.
Slowly she feeds its head
into Laura's depths.
And as I watch I jump
in shocked realization
away from the bed
and from the accusation
upon my mother's face
in the flash that briefly strikes
her eyes as the sun upon a rippling wave
when tubing bites its way
along diseased inner passageways.
Then the look is gone
but I feel its sting
upon my face and feel
a vital flow of blood to my cheek.

I miss the moment when death creeps slowly
upon her and suddenly seizes its prize;
the tide reaching its height within her lungs.
They tell me she suddenly reached upward
towards heaven with her body
at the moment of the tide's triumph,
wearied eyelids rising in resurrection,
sea-blue irises looking in recognition
towards the empty doorway,
her face more radiant than a thousand suns,
a look of surprise and welcome wonder
upon her face.

Only seconds later I enter the room
and knowledge squeezes its wizened fingers
upon my violently pounding heart,
loosening as a stronger hand triumphs its hold.
God's miracle has fashioned glory
from eighty pounds of shrunken tissue,
cartilage and cancer
and renews the burdened hope within my soul.
Never has my mother been so beautiful
as at her moment of flight -
a bride eloping with her bridegroom,
hand in hand together as they
fly upon the tidal sea.

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Jean V. Dickson is a Canadian-based entrepreneur who puts creativity's ZING into training, corporate communications and church worship. Visit her Christian ministry websites, www.fatsheep.org and www.worshipzing.com. To jazz up your corporate PowerPoint presentations, visit The PowerPoint Joint at www.PowerPointJoint.com.

© 1993, Jean Dickson