Joan McNerney

By Joan McNerney

Maybe it had been toomuch helping her mother.She hurried home after work.with medicine, carrying bags ofgroceries, rushing to cook.Endless cleaning, piles of wash.She arranged medical visits,wrote checks, handled mail,balanced accounts. Then there were all the little things.Turn up the radio. Turn it down.Run out for candy.  Pick up newspapers.Find something cool to drink.Make something hot. Every dayher mother’s health seemed worse. Visiting her in the hospital,Gloria consulted doctors.Trying to digest complicatedmedical terms coiled inconvoluted sentences.Straining to interpret archedeyebrows half smiles, mumbles. Everything led to dead ends.Sorrow stabbed at her withits blazing knife.  Finallythere was nothing left to dobut light candles in churchImage source –

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