“Mommy, can I have this dolly please?
I know that I have other ones at home.
Can I?
Please?
Yes I know there’s kids in Africa that don’t have any dollies,
That’s not what I was getting at.
Mommy, I want it.
I want it.
Mommy!”
Remember that mom? How silly was I?
Greedy for all the wrong things...
I feel your hand now- soft, fragile, wrinkled- in mine.
The doctors tell me that you haven’t got a lot of time…
“She’s hanging on by the tips of her fingers.”
One of them told me.
Always a fighter. Even when you’re pale and frail.
How long will you be here, to hold my hand while the hospital machines tick like sadistic time machines?
Like a clock without conscience.
I want more ticks on the machine.
I want more heartbeats.
“Mommy I want it.”
No.
I want you.
You should see the snow outside, Mom.
Typical Nebraskan winter, I tell ya.
Remember when I was eight, and there was that huge blizzard?
The snow piled up, but it was a gentle snow. Fluffy. Light.
The snow will keep falling. Keep fighting, the way the flakes fight the wind.
(Sigh)
Your hair is so grey now. I remember when you used to dye it
To spite dad and his ever greying, salt-and-pepper style.
You’re so thin...
Ugh! Come back to me, let’s rewind
To the years when I could be greedy for dollies, and not for days.