The Hand That Rocked The Cradle

Our wish to keep her here with us

Cannot stem the tide

Of sand running through the hourglass

Beckoning her to the other side

Eighty-nine years, a good long run

Really, who could ask for more?

Yet we do, we pray for Grace to postpone

The closing of the door

Things left unsaid, old wounds unhealed

Lessons yet unlearned 

We struggle to release her

To that reward so justly earned

Acceptance is a bitter pill

The price of letting go

Denial slowly slips away

And finally, we know

Each day we see more clearly

The battle is nearly done

We hold her hand as she prepares

To journey on alone

January 14, 2025