I Told Her She is Dying


I Told Her She is Dying

I told her. An hour ago. That she is dying.

I didn't say what my heart wanted to say -- that I want her to wait, just a bit longer. If she can. Just wait...

Until your great-granddaughter and namesake overcomes her medical problems.
Until we enjoy one last summer together. (And while you're at it - why not one more Christmas?)
Until the house is clean.
Until I pull all the weeds.
Until I finally clean out your closet and organize your clothes.
Until I lose weight. (I'm not sure why)
Until the Grandkids realize how very much they'll miss you and spend more time with you because of it.
Until we take one last of everything; one last trip to the beach, one last 4th of July, one last trip to Hawaii.
Until I'm ready to take the helm.
Until the honeysuckle blooms.
Until I have a plan for the rest of my life.
Until I hear all your stories and write them down.
Until we marvel at the clap of thunder and a sky lit up by lightening.
Until I know everything you've tried to teach me.
Until we plant bulbs together. Until they break ground and bloom.

Please. Just wait. Until.

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