on the one year anniversary of my mother's death

my mother's life was punctuated by time limits. 3 months to live. 6 months to live. a year. it didn't matter that she always beat the odds, the doctors would just come back with another deadline. it was as though death had come to visit my mother and liked her cooking so much he decided to stay. hanging out in the guest room with a good book. only coming out for meals.

a home where death has taken up permenant residence is not a comfortable home. it is an anxious home. a stressed home. a home where children cover their mouths when they laugh, afraid of being just a little too happy.

my mother was the shining jewel of this small tense kingdom. she was the sun around which all our lives revolved. this was her right, and she demanded it. my mother was strong. inflexible. i spent my whole life fighting against that strength. feeling as though it diminished me. somehow.

like an artist who is only recognized after their death, i now finally see the wonder that was my mothers life.

i can see her, a young woman moaning with the pain of a contraction, death holding her hand.

i can see her, standing at the stove, stirring potato soup, death looking over her shoulder.

i can see her, staring out the kitchen window at her children as they play. across the table, death lifts a cup of tea to his lips.

i can see her, holding her grandchildren. one by one. she is holding up her finger at death. "a little longer" her eyes demand and death slinks back to the guest room.

i can see her. just as her eyes were unveiled at her death so were mine.

the moment she died she stopped looking like my mother. my mother was hard. fire. iron. my mother was green eyes blazing. strong arms holding. she was heat and anger.
she was fights and yells and things being thrown against walls. she was not this. she was not stillness and quiet. she was not resignation. not fraility. she was not still, blue hands folded over chest.

death finally claimed her. it's inevitable. he can't lose. but i really like knowing that she kicked his ass just a little bit before letting go.