this twelfth day
of mourning my mother
I drop tiny
black poppy seeds
into a warm softening earth

It all happened so fast I am left numb. We brought Mama to the hospital on the night of April 8; she was diagnosed with cancer the next day and died on Tuesday, April 14 at 1:00pm while I held her hand. Heartbroken, but also grateful for the days I was able to sit with her, stroke her hair and bring her comfort,love and peace. I have suffered many painful losses in my life, but none compare to this; my mother has been my biggest inspiration and my best friend for all my days. In every small thing that I do, even in planting these poppies (one of my mom's favorite flowers), I am reminded that life as I know it will never be the same.

This is the link to her obituary which I had the privilege of writing:

Shirley M. Bouchie

cutting
mama’s fine white hair
this windy spring day
our time together
slowly falling to the floor

My father is in rehab now and making very slow progress, but I know he is in good care so this at least eases my mind. My mother, however, seems failing every day; it is as if she is slipping from my hands just like the pieces of hair falling to the floor. Cutting her hair this morning seemed such an intimate gesture, such a simple task and I wanted so badly for it to be perfect. Ah, but nothing in life is perfect these days; hour by hour, I find myself letting it in, then letting it go, all these imperfections, all these big things and little things I have no control over--even my shabby, uneven pathetic attempt at a haircut. But as Mama says, perfect or not, "at least it's out of my eyes".