She lets me rub oil into her skin,
massaging it slowly into her feet
till they’re supple and warm
and the skin almost shines,
swelling gone.
She sighs in pleasure
instead of pain.
The room smells of lavender.
Lanky afternoon light
lopes through the slats
to replace the fluorescence
of the ICU.
It’s quiet.
No nurse. No doctor.
No beep to alert us her oxygen is low.
How seldom I let myself
move this slow.
I smooth her arches,
slip my fingers through her toes.
We play this little piggy goes home,
and this little piggy goes home,
and this little piggy and this little piggy
and this little piggy go whee whee whee
all the way home.
Is it strange I love this moment
in a place neither of us wants to be.
The business outside this room
will last forever.
And here we are, so alive
we slip right into the miracle.
*
Dear Friends,
thank you again for all the support, all the kind notes, all the prayers and love and healing energy. I can’t respond to them, but I read them all and let them go in … all the way in. I read mom a bunch of the notes today–and they warmed her, too. In the ICU, it seems time goes fast and healing goes slow. Mom’s improving, at last. I see a path out, albeit a long one. Wishing you all deep peace and ease in your own bodies.