Those in-between fleeting moments before you let go of the night and greet the day.
I walked into the kitchen and touched my mother’s shoulder. It comforted me.

Next was my watching her slowly die. I touched her shoulder and gave her fluids.
It comforted me, this girl and woman who existence was wrapped in fear and feverish
dreams that echoed reality. Words spit with venom that cut to the bone.

The  only touches I remember. The rest of the story belongs to the night and day of darkness
And fear and unfathomable head knocking to keep the the wolf at bay. Day and night.