watching his disease
change him over three years
her lips pursed
the seasons come and go—
buds, blossoms, then withering
in his hospice room
the drawn shades block out the sun—
she holds her son’s hand
once his fingers built castles
in the sandbox at the park
the family
gather in this simple room
all have arrived
to say their tearful farewells
before the last page is turned
her Mother’s Day gift—
at her son’s funeral
she finally sobs
the tears of relief
can’t wipe away his cancer
