My eyes focus and I see my eldest son holding one of my gnarled and decrepit hands in his.

His whole body is stiff,

but his grip on my hand was gentle, almost delicate,

as if he were holding the thinnest piece of glass that would break after a single touch.

I use some of my little remaining strength to gently squeeze his hands in mine.

He looks up, and I think I can see tears running down his face,

but I’m not sure.

“Hi, Momma,” he says.

There’s a slight tremble in his voice,

as if he’s trying as hard as he can to hold back tears.

“Hey baby,” I replied. “Are you ok? Why are you crying?”

“I’m fine Momma,” he says. “I’m fine, I’m just sad.”

I see a tear running down the side of his face,

so I take one of my hands from his and brush it away.

I put my hand on his cheek and his eyes meet mine.

“Everybody’s got to leave sometime baby.

Now it’s my time and I’ll get to see your Daddy again.”

Tears now flow from his face and he lowers his head,

trying to hide his pain from me.

“I’m gonna miss you Momma. Make sure you say hi to Dad for me.”

He looks up and at my face again.

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” I say. “Can I have… a hug… baby?”

He nods, stands, and he puts his arms around me in a gentle embrace.

I wrap him in an embrace of my own,

using what was left of my fingernails to scratch his back.

“I love you so much Momma,” he says.

I smile.

“...I… lo…ve… you… to...o… ba…”