subtext

My mom died last Thursday morning, December 18th, almost exactly eleven months since she went into the hospital for the first time since the mid-1960’s. I saw her alive for the last time Tuesday night. When she tried to talk, her speech was slurred and whispery. I couldn’t understand anything that she said to me. I fed her, a half-spoon at a time, the soup that the staff at Grace House had brought for her. She ate it all. As I walked out the door that evening, she told me distinctly, “Be a sweet boy.”
Every year since I was a teenager when I asked my mom what she wanted for Christmas she gave the same answer, “Sweet kids.” I’m not sure she ever got what she wanted.