She passed quietly, like fog in sunlight.
The last time we were together, there was little I could do for her. I could not move her legs and arms to ease the tension of too-tight muscles. I could not massage fragrant lotion gently into her bloated hands and feet.
I washed her face, moistened her lips, and smoothed her hair.
I leaned close to her, held her swollen hands, and prayed aloud that she would know that she was loved, that she would know there are people in the world who care about her, that she would know that Jesus himself loves her so much that he walked through death's door himself, just so that he could be with her right now to show her the way.
As I prayed, tears slipped from her beautiful gray eyes, eyes fixed on a horizon a million miles away.
"Soon," I said. I wiped her tears and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. I kissed her forehead. "I will be back tomorrow."
Tomorrow came...
Her breath was shallow as a sleeping baby's, her skin cool and waxen. The beautiful gray eyes stared into eternity.
She had held on through the night, waiting.
"Good morning." I took her hand and stroked it. "You are not alone. I am here."
She closed her eyes, sighed, and slept.
She passed quietly, like fog in sunlight.
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