Death is sudden,

final,

yet my apprehension

or understanding

of my mother’s passing

seems to unfold

over time.

It has the look of a blow

but maybe

her death

is unfolding

as mysteries do.

My finite mind 

can only grasp

so much.

I have held sorrow and loss

at bay

‘She was in pain’

‘It was time’

True

but not complete statements.

As another formal step

is done

I have returned to loss

yet I also realise

it is a step forward.

Where to?

A life where my mother

is a memory (or a thousand!)

I cherish and embrace all that was good

in her

and let go or forgive

her shortcomings,

as I hope others will forgive mine

in my turn.

Death unfolds…like a flower?