I watched as she pulled weeds
From her front yard
She was bent over with age
Her hair white
And pulled into a bun
She moved slowly
In a world of her own
Memories of times past
Floated through her mind
She was unaware of those around her
Of cars passing
Of birds chirping
Her thoughts drifted back
To her own country
The place of her birth
She thought of her husband
Now gone
And of her children
All of them
Making a life of their own
She is alone
With her memories
Some pleasant
Others
Sad
She is nearing the end
Of her life
She knows her time here
Is short
And she puts in her day
Sorting through her memories
Which ones she wants to remember
Until her last breath
And which ones are now unimportant
Not much can be done about those
Memories
That left such a void
And mark in her life
She will gracefully continue
On
Moving from day to day
Until her Lord and Master
Will come for her
He will take her by the hand
And guide her
Through the veil
That separates this life
From the next
He will hold her tight
Until she is on the other side
Where she will be greeted
By so many that have gone on before her
And she will be home at last
Gail Adams
Author of Heaven and Earth and In Between
