Final Goodbye

She asks a question - we reply and not a moment passes by before she asks us once again. We grit our teeth and count to ten. She looks uneasy, as if she knows and we attempt a casual pose. It’s not important, our stances say, but was she like this yesterday? We change the subject to hide the pain. Her smiling comments are too inane and, one by one, we turn away as if to search for yesterday. Or for the mother we so adored who never earned this cruel reward. The guilt is written on every face; we long to leave now, find our space. But her need’s greater; we stay awhile. We do our best to donate a smile. In her confusion she does not see. She’s lost the feel for subtlety. My eyes are swollen with unwept tears. Her every gesture increases fears and by the time I take my leave, no-one else but mum could I deceive. She smiles serenely, ‘How good you are To come and visit your old Ma.’ She doesn’t notice the teardrops fall. Yet her stooped posture says it all. She raises a hand and grips me tight ‘Don’t worry - things will turn out right’ What does she mean? I cannot ask; before I can, she’s raised the mask. And I, a child again, just cry and wave a final sad Goodbye.