Mom

​

By Angela Saylor

 

I wait for the bell. 

It rings no more.

She is gone.

 

Death was silent – 

Not like her,

Feisty, talkative,

Always spoiling for a debate,

Strong in her opinions, beliefs, and love.

My father, Sal, once gave her a wind-up toy in constant motion and said it was like her mouth.

Mom thought that was the funniest thing ever.

 

She soaked up the fullness of life

Through her family, her books, and her charitable giving.

When she could no longer travel, her interesting and diverse caretakers brought the world to her.

 

Mom was a little woman with a big presence.

She defied death till the end,

Refusing a wheelchair, exercising her fingers, creaming her face.

 

Having Mom for so many years makes us miss her all the more.

 

Her parting wish was simple, Christ-like, and daunting: that we never hate each other, that we love each other.

Mom used a red bell on her nightstand to beckon her health aides because her voice had become weak.

Red was her favorite color.

It stands for strength and independence.

What power she showed in overcoming the loss of Dad, my brother Tommy, and her home, destroyed in Hurricane Sandy!

 

Mom’s passion energizes us. Let her bell ring loud and clear.

 

As the poet John Donne wrote, “Send not to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”