I hold my mom's hands. They are warm with blood still coursing through them. I watch for her heartbeat, it softly shows through her thin sweater. She has been alive in her body for 86 years and nearly three months. She has used her body for good: serving, loving, teaching, supporting. I imagine the time when my mother's heart will stop and her hands will grow cold. I'm afraid for that time. I can replay videos of her laughing, talking, vibrant with life. I can remember holding her in big hugs or kissing her on her forehead. But once she's gone I will not be able to touch her again. I can't capture that, as hard as I try.
Her smell will remain on her clothing, the fragrance "Beautiful" was hers and always will be. I'll buy a bottle to remember. I will look at photos and listen to sound bytes. I will taste the foods she loved - corn on the cob, fudge, rice pudding. I can smell, see, hear and taste things to remember her. But I won't have her to touch. It makes me sad. I will miss my mother's touch. I look forward to the day when I pass through the veil and find my mother with open arms, ready to give me the hug I'll want for the rest of my life.
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