I struggled to keep a small bird alive.
The bird, tight beaked, was unwilling.
Now my mother lies curled,
The same as a bird,
Tired of this thing we call living.
If we let her go now she can open her wings,
the windows are open, flung wide.
I defend her souls right
To escape in the night
And fly into sweet oblivion.
The Dreaming Path 
Your mother and you (okay especially you) are in my thoughts and prayers ..always. It’s never easy to let go of a mother, even when we’re sure it’s for the best. You may recall a few years back, I was the one my mother asked if she was going to recover or really die. Then she asked me if it was okay for her to go, would I be alright. Been asked that question too many times, brother. So, you are definitely in my thoughts and prayers.
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