nonny is slipping away. she can’t eat her eggs, they dry on her lips. her hand is a claw, deformed, unusable. she shakes. she moans. her legs are thinner than they've ever been, her stomach too. she is just a straight line, no more womanly, comfortable, grandma curves.
for the first time she looked at my face and no smile broke out and no shine showed in her eyes. it is time for her to go. it time for her to know peace and joy and comfort again.
i hold her boney, contorted hand, and kiss it. i forget about the grossness of old age and just want to hold her.
i think i’ve heard the last words, and i couldn't even understand them.