counting breaths

when the sun rose this morning through the east window of her hospital room
her heart continued to pulse
breaths were abandoning their regular rhythm
but insisted on catching on some unseen sprocket
continuing raggedly
labor reversed

counting the spaces between my mother's breaths
wondering if this time her chest would no longer rise
wondering if the breath or pulse would be the last thing we would see
I remember being surprised
but no longer remember what lasted the longest - her breath or her heart

she had long heard angels in her dreams
singing to her
new songs and old
she impatient with us in our inability to hear them
writing them down so that she could sing them to us when we arrived

someone had come with a bouquet of helium baloons in the night
a celebration done, and they wanted to share this gift of color and celebration
with someone
and they thought of Lydia

we set them on the table as if she might see them
the nurse took one home at the end of the night shift
she would let it go when she got home,
with a prayer for Lydia

when she came back this morning, Lydia was still there
she had one more day
to breathe
to hear?
to labor
to leave

once Mom sang with me
a song she had taught me long ago
I sang into her ear and stumbled on the words
so she faintly joined me
"you forgot the words" she whispered

she often told me how long she had waited for me
for children
stories of expectation and joy

now I waited with her
watched this dearly loved body
still clinging to her life

she lived with joy
and an edge of defiance
with determination
with music
always there was music

tomorrow, four years gone
Lydia John Guenther Krahn

(Written Friday, August 26, 2016)