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on skin, bones and photos


She has a beautiful four poster bed.  To the left is a night stand with burning incense and a bottle of water.  To the right of the bed are rows of Egyptian art.  I immediately wonder if she understands the history, because so few delve past the tour or the books. Wonder if she’ll live long enough that I can have the conversation with her someday…

She’s not in that bed.  She’s in the hospital bed to the right of the room, facing the fireplace and hundreds of greetings cards and photos.  Every time I come back, there are more.  I wonder who has the task of rearranging whenever it is time to post more, whether they did it solemnly, with a smile or with tears.

She smiles when I arrive and starts off telling me about the progression of her health.  She is upset about the ups and downs.  The glimmers of hope lost in moments through unyielding physical pain.

She talks about upcoming events then questions if she’ll be around for them. She tells me she would like to die quickly in her sleep when it is her time to go.  She is tired of doctors and pain.  I smile and tell her that I too wish that she has a peaceful and pain free passing, but that until then, hope that this day and the ones upcoming are just as peaceful and pain free.

She houses a cancer that cannot be evicted. Her chest is scarred from surgeries of hope, her hair white and thin. Her veins are seen clearly through her translucent skin. When I hold her hands she falls asleep and they shake and tremor.  I massage her ever so softly.  She calls it my “ironing her out”.

When it is time for me to leave she tells me she feels warm and believes in the power of my ‘magic’.

I tell her goodbye, until we meet next time.  I do not hug her but wish to.  Instead, I smile, knowing our next meeting may be on the other side of the rainbow.

Magic is touch.  Touch is energy . Energy is love.  Love is everything.


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