We wait at the station, Mother and I, one final stop for her – painless she prays; I busied at bedside – prolonged goodbye – memories and regrets filling our days.
“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims “Why must suffering linger till the end?” I plea and bargain, call angelic names, yet the will to survive refuses to bend.
The urgency builds as my time dwindles; must I leave her in this compromised state? She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.
Some destinations are clearly defined – Death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.
(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)