A Grim Door

It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we shall sup at his table tonight.

My friend’s mother is dying,
Has been dying for eighteen months,
A physical deterioration until she cannot sup
Or evacuate, or speak.
Perhaps even eyelid communication will soon end.

The grief over the loss of a mother remains,
With the added grief
And exhaustion of caring long
For a terminally ill woman.

And I cry out with my friend:
Jesus, be gentle!