So, I started a series of writing to kind of experiment with poetry again. It's slowly becoming a collection of poems about "The In Between." What lies between fear and courage, or night and day? It's been a burst of creativity, one that I am hard pressed to deny.
And so I've started collecting the inspirations and writing them as they come. This one in particular is about my grandmother that sort of came pouring out as I was holding her hand in the hospital. It's an interesting thing how much pain can trigger inspiration. But alas, I don't claim to understand these things. I've just simply come to accept them.
The place between life and death is a hard place to be.
As I watched her deep breaths surrounded by the machines pumping life into her, I could think of nothing else but the pain she was in.
This woman, full of joy and beauty, was stuck in the in-between. Reaching, aching, for heaven and being held to earth by the love of her family.
The love for her family.
The day was fitting. Dark clouds, a gusting wind, a solemn understanding.
Her mind had ceased working, as it should many months ago. She was clinging to the memories she had and relying on the others we could give her.
The sound of nurses bustling around in the background filled the room. Everything felt like slow motion, like a dream.
Was she awake or asleep? The voices seemed so distant, the strength she once had so unattainable. It was a siren’s call, a plea, a bargain.
Heaven was calling.
Would she answer the call today?
