Closure 3

15C August 18, 2021

My mother loved red roses

Seeking peace and reconciliation

I looked after her for nine months, forty years later

When she could no longer be trusted on her own.

When she would walk into the street at three a.m

In her dressing gown and slippers,

Searching for my long-dead father.

The last evening was nice. I cooked steak for her

And we chatted amicably — I don’t remember what about.

Next day she had another stroke early in the morning

And I found her lying on the floor, tearing up loo paper.

She went into a home and rotted a little quicker

For a few years and then died peacefully

With my brother keeping her company.

I was selfishly, secretly, guiltily

So glad, so happy she was gone.

A shadow hanging over my life had passed.

A door had opened.

*

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