Yesterday Mom spent several hours sitting on my deck hunched over with tears slipping down her face. The facts of life...and death...seeping into her reality.
I stood at the window and watched, not knowing how to give comfort, afraid of my own tears.
What could I possibly say? "Mom, it's okay." No, it's not. Cancer is so far from okay. "Mom, it'll be alright." The headaches that remind her of the bomb ticking in her head never stop. How can that ever be alright?
But how could sitting alone in one's pain alright? And how can keeping a distance from someone hurting because of fear of one's own pain ever be okay?
A hard blink and a quick swipe of the hand. A shaky deep breath. "Oh, God, help me be what she needs right now. Help me be the love you have for her."
Her head lifted when I opened the door, and her red eyes followed me as I moved the other chair close to her and sat down.
"I love you, Mom."
She nodded, blinked, and leaned back in the chair. A deep breath.
"I love you, too, Sis."
"I don't know what to do, but I'm here."
She didn't look at me, only nodded.
"Here is good."
I leaned back in my chair, too.
Silence wrapped around us, held us tight...held us close. There was nothing to say, only somewhere to be.
Here is good.