Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.
—David Whyte
(from “Start Close In”)
•••
At first it is lending a hand when she
needs to take the small step up a curb.
Later, as her steps become shorter,
her balance iffier, she reaches for your arm,
and you provide it, hoping that you
are steady enough for her.
And when she can no longer take any
steps, you watch your sister lift her
from her favorite spot on the sofa and
slowly waltz her—onetwothree, onetwothree—
to the hospital bed that she doesn’t want,
in the family room facing the TV,
her constant companion during all her
waking hours. It is then, sitting the vigil,
that you think of her gradual need
for assistance, that, as her sight dimmed,
as her body failed, she rarely asked for
help, but you learned to read her gestures—
the outstretched arm, her hand reaching
for yours, which she had never done,
as far as you could recall. But she must
have held your small hands in hers
when you and your sister began to try
your own steps, holding hands
while crossing the street,
a daughter on either side of her.
And near the very end, you grownup
girls cradle her bird-boned hands
in yours as she readies for flight,
no more walking necessary,
her wings appearing just in time
to lift her into mystery.
•••
(for Donna, in memory of our mother)
Güd wrtr 
So very moving, Jan, and brought me to tears. In my eldest son’s last hours, my youngest boy took a similar photo, his hand clasping his brother’s jaundiced one, like two giant paws joined, with his wife’s slender hand and those of his three children slipped between them, nearly invisible in the photo, but invited nonetheless to share in that final touch, that last act of love before that dear boy took his flight a few hours later.
What a tender moment you’ve shown here… I love this: “to share in that final touch, that last act of love before that dear boy took his flight a few hours later.” Such a nice poem you have here, Terry.
beautiful tribute to your last moments with your mother. May her spirit be at peace, and yours, and your sisters.
Thank you so much, Moudi.
Thank you dear sister🥰😘❤️
Thank YOU, dear thither. She (and I) couldn’t have done it all without you.