Fidgety no more

Fidgety is how I feel,
Waiting and waiting some more.
I hear the sounds of the wheels
Oh, will they stop at my door?

Fidgety I am still now
After the waiting is done
I think that maybe - somehow
again I'll be waiting alone.

This is how I this Monday - for Poetry Monday - told about spending most of my day waiting at a hospital. The bedside, I sat at, was my mothers. We were told that it was nothing serious, no inflammation, no infection, and not Covid either, so I stayed at her bedside, talking, reminiscing, answering questions, trying to ally her worries until the transport (the wheels of my verse) came to take her home to her own longed for bed once more.

The verse also foresee more such episodes, and already Tuesday I was told that she had been hospitalised once more. One hour later the hospital called me again. Now the news were dire, I called, messaged, and wrote to all family members, and most of us, siblings, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren gathered at her bed. We talked, we "fed" her coca-cola in small sips, we even joked and laughed, subdued, but still. Next day, Wednesday, she passed peacefully while my sister sat at her side.

Honestly, I can't say I'm devastated or even very grief-stricken. Like I said about the Walrus -- I'm sad yes, but also ... relieved, if I may say so. She was 90 years old, weak, more than half blind and tired of living. Of course I am going to miss her - we all are  - but she passed gently and is now at peace.