I’m just back from our church, where we witnessed the immersion baptism of eleven young people. I thought back to this post about my Mother, looked it up, and decided to reblog it today–three years after I first published it. It still makes me tear up when I read it. I hope you enjoy it as well. Elouise
rise gently enfolding her
* * * * *
I’m standing in a windowless, high-ceiling concrete room
with a concrete floor, drainage holes and air vents.
A deep whirlpool tub stands in the middle
filled with warm steamy water.
The room faintly resembles a large sauna minus the wood.
Functional, not beautiful.
Mother is in hospice care after suffering a stroke weeks ago
and then developing pneumonia in the hospital.
Her ability to communicate with words is almost nonexistent.
Today she’s going to be given a bath.
I’m told she loves this, and that
Sister #4 and I are welcome to witness the event.
For the past hour caregivers have been preparing her–
removing her bedclothes, easing her onto huge soft towels,
rolling and shifting her inch by inch onto a padded bath trolley,
doing all they can to minimize pain and honor her body.
Finally, they slowly roll the trolley down the hall.
The hospice sauna room echoes with…
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