Eighty-two years of living. Fifty-nine years of marriage. Laboring, sweating, building, repairing, fighting, sailing, fishing, hunting, teaching, swearing, holding, talking, loving, breathing.
Years of suffering.
Done now.
No more struggling just to breathe.
No more arguing over who did what to whom.
No more fear.
No more pain.
Rest now.
Float on the lovely ocean in my dreams.
Goodbye, Popo. I'm sorry I can't cry, but I really do love you.
3 comments:
I know you've been expecting this for a while, but I imagine it's still a bit difficult.
You're in my thoughts.
My best to you, Mama.
Sorry, I just read this and found out. Let me know if I can help in any way.
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