A Mother's Grief

We sit in the silence of a room
whose walls once held laughter.
Fingers trace the threads
of a quilt now frayed
with confusion and grief.

Her hands rest empty in her lap,
clenching, loosening,
grasping for something to hold.

I know words are meaningless,
they would only scatter like dust,
too small to matter.

So I stay, my hand on her shoulder.
Remind her to breathe,
hold space where the world has caved in.

And in this quiet place,
where nothing can be mended,
nothing can be undone,
she knows

I loved her too.

And I hope that helps,
somehow.