My Mom

My mother is in the hospital, and may very well be discharged to heaven this time. I had the most precious time holding her hand yesterday, and remembering the woman who used to sing silly songs with me when I was a child; the woman who used to cook wonderful Sunday dinners and who had that creative flair that made Holidays that much more special. My dad told me he had been trying to write a poem for the poetry group he is in, but had had a difficult time. It finally flowed from his pen in the beautiful way it it always does. I want to share that with you. If you read this, please pray for our family. We have really been without mom for some time now, but the approach of her physical departure adds a temporal finality -- if you will allow me to use the term -- that is still very difficult to bear at times...

WHEN THE FOG RISES
by William Kenneth Roller

Have you ever tried to write a poem
when the one you've loved for sixty years
cries out so often because she fears
you've disappeared inside your home?

Have you ever struggled to pen a verse
while the one you've loved for sixty years
forgets you are her husband? Through tears
you realize you're now her nurse.

Have you ever sought to make a rhyme
while the one you've loved for sixty years
can't seem to train her eyes and ears
to share some joy you find sublime?
But...
Have you ever tried to still your story
about the one you've loved for sixty years?
You know the mist that now appears
will all dissolve into grace and glory.