Her eyes wander around the room, chasing unseen butterflies. Butterflies leading her to heaven. My hands caress her fragile fingers, and all of what is left of her strength seems to go into her grasp. The only thing keeping her on earth. "She's down to 87 pounds," the nurse whispers. My lips curl at the pureed yogurt cod. Instead, I scrape the mashed potatoes and gravy on the spoon. Gingerly, the spoon touches her lips, which instinctively suck on the little nourishment I can give. "Yes, I like potatoes, too. This is good food. Do you want to try the applesauce?" I coo. Although she probably couldn't hear me, she still had a soul and responded to love. I loved her. Heaven's butterflies fly away.
January 26, 2011