Mourning

Hospitality

–in Memoriam, Charlotte M. Hill (1926-2012)

When I got the call from Mom,
saying you were in hospice,
it was as I expected
and hoped, for I wanted you
to suffer no longer, your body
already wracked beyond
medications’ or surgery’s
extensive but finite reach,
only divine healing a real
possibility.

Maybe some had prayed
for that those last months,
weeks, and days, and I did too,
but ceased from prayers for healing,
instead requesting God’s peace,
the only one we cannot fathom,
the only one that cannot be broken.

Yet when I spoke to you
(after Mom said you couldn’t speak),
you did just that–words your way
of showing love, conversation
your gift, however strained.
You said I made you proud.
I said, I love you.  You said the same.

And now, your struggle done,
I imagine you serving at the table
of the Lord.  Even though none will lack
anything, you’ll still ask everyone
(once, twice, three times) if they
have enough–not from lack of faith–
but because you want all
to hunger and thirst no more.

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