I think Johanna was trying to give me a hint; Johanna my sister. Warn me is her own special way; her gentle, caring way. She posted a poem a few days ago…or has it been weeks? I can’t keep track of time anymore…it doesn’t matter…time…anymore…to a guy like me…anyway…she called it, “To Edith Failing.” Edith. My Mom.
I am standing naked. Drenched. My head turned toward the sky. Cold rain pouring into my eyes. The cobra skinned clouds and the moon playing tricks on my mind. After what seems like days of rain, the clouds part and the moon is so clear.
The blue dot light stars splash across the night sky and it dawns on me that maybe Johanna is preparing me and the world I know for the saddest moment of my life…lives really … hundreds … maybe more. Edith was … is?… my favorite mother of all time…the first mother walked out of Africa. I think Edith was that mother…I am grateful she chose me for a son…I guess she was looking for a challenge. Is Edith failing? If so, will she return?