Stream of consciousness, final days at the cabin

In flashes it breathes. Memories fade-not quickly enough, and too fast. Clenching, fear, selfishness, then the voice of a friend in tears and agony, “Bless your heart,” so precious, so painful. Now the look on her face- she can’t breathe. Oh God help me, why isn’t anyone coming to help me? “She’s gone, Alison.” My Daddy crying. He doesn’t cry. I’ve never seen him cry. No one is here. Facetime with my husband. I’m terrified I’m going to die and leave Molly with no mother. Andy Griffith, something light to watch. It breathes again. Oh God, our sweet neighbors. He can’t make it, renal failure, isolation. “Can you pray with me?” The nurse says, “Leave, you can’t go in, absolutely not!” The worst is the last glimpse of my Mama. I’m so sorry, please tell her for me, God! I need my Mama! Once more it breathes and I am on the floor alone, crying out to God so loudly that some part of my hurting brain wonders if the neighbors will call the cops. Cops. They all showed up yesterday to honor her, in uniform. Precious. She text me to say Goodbye. My hand in the air calling to God outside in my pjs. The Holy Spirit. Yezzi, too. I’m not alone. I touch the recently moved ground by the yellow roses and plaque- and it breathes and I breath with it. “It is well with me, because it was well with her.”