The bedroom

that had become

the sick room then

the dying room

was transformed

as her soul began to outgrow

the bonds of a body

become too weak to hold her.

The room was full

of light,

of love,

of peace:

a warm and welcoming presence

(or perhaps more than one)

as she drew near to Eternity

and it drew near to her.

The white-painted walls

took on a hint of gold,

as if they were illuminated

by a warmer light

than a January sun

can ever give.

And after that last breath

let go

and there was no more-

as we stared at one another

and waited, wondering

is this it?-

the light lingered

then slowly faded

like a lantern leaving a room,

not without regret.

Later that day,

I returned to the room

to find something

to hold on to,

but it was cold and empty.

The gold-tinged walls

once more cold white,

the things her hands had touched,

silent and empty.