Yesterday I said goodbye

She's reaching the end of her time: so many years well-spent with a family that adored her and still does. Her color is faded and her eyes have clouded; her legs are no longer stable. I don't see her as often now. She stays at home, curled by the fire or pacing a path into the carpet.

She can no longer hear me when I whisper in her ear as I did when we were young. She can't keep up with me when I walk; she can't follow me out the door. But still she comes to me with an open heart, trusting and true.

I may not see her again. Time keeps up its relentless march and I may not be there when she has to venture, bravely, into whatever comes next. I pray that it comes quietly to her as she is warm by the fire or soft in her bed. I tell her again of my love and hope that despite ears too old to hear me, she understands.

Yesterday I said goodbye.