I don't think she knew how close she was to death but I know she felt closer to it. Recently she ventured into the wildness, into the wind and pollen and campfire smoke, into the buzz of chainsaws that spewed the stuff that her lungs were allergic too. She coughed for days afterward but she was around her kids, her grandkids, and her husband. It was the first time I had seen her roast a marshmallow.

Dad opened the hospital blinds and the sun came in. From her bed, I can tell she honestly missed the outdoors. She commented on how blue the sky was and how she could see for miles and I'm not sure that she said this or if I just felt it but she recognized the moment to be special, a goodby to the beauty just beyond the glass. An acknowledgment of her memories of a healthier time when she moved through this world without pain. She caught me looking at her and we smiled at our mutual understanding of the peace that was just beyond the walls.  An hour later the nurse wheeled her away as she said, "I'm off to get my hair done." Thirty minutes later a doctor came to tell us she was dead. 

A woman in Nashville told me to not stand in front of her hair salon, that I should stand somewhere else.

Afraid, I kissed your head not knowing how much time we had.

I refuse to believe it even knowing you're gone.

I felt you in the trees when the orange blossoms came. 

I hope you can breath now. 

My thoughts chase you everyday.

You stayed with me for months in that bed. I was fortunate to return the favor even for just a few days. You were embarrassed but I was proud.

You kept us safe with your smile and on the inside you endured it so well. 

We didn't know this man but I recognized his last place the second I saw it. The image had been hidden in my memory since history class. We approached with reverence. My head tingled and my heart felt the loss.

Lorraine Motel