Cremating Momma, One Monday in November.

"Cremating Momma, one Monday in November." ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ She lay within a paperboard sarcophagus. I saw Mom on her back, as if she were just napping for awhile. An icicle of mucus hung, suspended from her nose, just some drops of her life fluids trapped before they could depart. While locked inside a freezer this last movement seeped, and froze. How I longed to wipe it off, because with tenderness she had, so often wiped my nose when I was small, to stop its running. But here, her nose was stopped forever, stilled by one large stroke, and now her frozen countenance, I could not bring myself to touch, as silently I wept...awaiting much worse yet to come. ~ On a raised platform, eye level, I stood by her until the end, then I bent and kissed her precious hand, and mumbled sad Godspeeds. The coldness of it numbed me, and I knew that she had left, that gentle hand that nurtured me, and guided me so well. "Oh, God!" I longed to hold her one more time, but then the sound, of furnaces igniting, shocked my soul, and gave me pause, as she was slowly rolled away into that blazing maw. Her box it thumped, my mom was jostled, then smoothly it moved on., all that I still held dear, now lost to me, by vast degrees, quickly vanished within minutes, was this life of worth consumed. ~ I turned from that most withering heat, and sadly left the room, wishing for one minute more, that I might hold my mother close. Strangely enough my wish was granted, when papers duly signed, confirmed that she had been disposed, according to state laws. The cost of her death, uninsured, had left me little choice. They handed me a squat black box, containing her cremains, so little left, hard to believe...but on it was Mom's name. I got to hold her one more time, so tight against my chest So as she once cradled me, I cradled her within my arms, and I could feel a warmth that permeated from within. ~ I closed my eyes, and thought of her sweet smile, of her soft voice, and shed another tear for all that was, and could have been. At peace I turned to go, out to a bright and sunny day, of a California world, and then back home so far away, with a box of memories, turned to ash, that I treasured like gold. We flew across the skies from heated climes, to winter's cold, reversing what she'd been through, from death's chill, into the flames. ~ November snows now blanket what remains...no longer warm, and I have faced the fires, and ice, of life's most troubling storm. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~*~Artis © on Mar 12 2002 10:10 AM PST   love