The Blanket...

The other night I walked home…

And I came upon a woman that reminded me of my Mother…

Except my Mother didn’t smell of urine or have a swollen infected foot with rotten bandages…

We talked for a while. She reminded me of my Mother…

Except my Mother didn’t have flies buzzing around her…and carry around little bags of rotten food…

We talked about all kinds of things in life. Some made sense. Some didn’t. At least not to me. At least not right then and there. But who am I to judge…

She really reminded me of my Mother…

Except my Mother didn’t have a plastic trash bag wrapped around her legs as her only means of keeping warm on a blustery rainy night…

And my Mother wasn’t beholden to a wheelchair…

She spoke kindly and laughed here and there. Much like my Mother…

She also had soft clear eyes and was overly self-conscious about her appearance and perceived body odor…

Much like my Mother when she was bed ridden…

I asked her what she needed the most. She said a blanket to keep warm. The trash bags on her legs weren’t warm at all…

So I stopped by my house and picked up my Mother’s blanket. The large warm one she used often. When she was alive…

I delivered the blanket later that evening much to my friend’s surprise…

She couldn’t eat the sandwich or drink the orange juice I also brought. She said she hadn’t been hungry for a while and other people would just dig in her bags and steal it anyway while she slept…but she thanked me…

So I covered her up with my Mother’s blanket…

And for a brief moment of time in her long life of suffering…

She was my Mother…

And I was her Son…

All our past and history was suspended and didn’t really matter…

I told her I loved her…

She said she loved me…and gave me a big smile…

Much like my Mother…

And in the end…

That’s all that really matters anyway…