Her adieu on the darkest of Mondays

In death,

As with in life,

She waited on you,

Even though you would never,

Move,

Or speak again,

She stood nearby,

And in a hushed voice,

Told you about your children,

And hers,

And how she would miss you,

And your hundred little cantankerous ways,

Which you developed,

As the illnesses and old age,

Robbed you of each passing day,

And even as your memories,

Fled,

Leaving behind nothing more than a husk,

Of your previous self,

She stayed,

By your side,

She remained,

And watched over you as if,

Merely sleeping,

And made sure all would be,

Alright for your journey,

For which she could not follow,

Worried and fretting,

Because she did not just carry your name,

She carried with her,

The memories of the years before,

And the children,

Now grown,

Who came back to say goodbye,

To the man who used to be strength itself,

And who quietly slipped away,

In the gray dawn,

On that day,

The darkest of Mondays.

~Rei Shiori