Mom's Bed

The bed where mom spent her last hour.
Anything but a death bed. Instead, place of solace, love, and life.
Where decades ago 3 young girls found late-night comfort from tummy aches and nightmares.
And could always squeeze in, fall asleep between the snoring of two tired parents.

The bed where mom read a few pages of a book before a final stretch.
Once a king size table for family pizza parties.
Shades pulled, the five of us huddled in front of the TV as the window air conditioner hummed, keeping us cool on a hot summer day.
It’s where teenage daughters took turns crying with fears of someday losing their mom.
And they were comforted. Told that when it did someday happen, they would be ready.

The bed where mom was found. Resting peacefully.
Where we now sit, sorting out her jewelry.
The turquoise necklace Allison gave her three birthdays ago. The matching earrings we bought when she visited me in North Dakota.
A bed too big for daughters too young to start their own families, buy their own homes, and welcome their own children to their bedside.
A quarter century old cut of mahogany left behind, stained with memories of life.
Anything but a death bed.

*Since my mom's passing last year I've thought a lot about that bed.  It's presence in my life. I'm not a poet.  I haven't written a poem, actually since high school.  But this seemed like the best way to compile my thoughts.