Une femme douce

My mother died yesterday, fifteen days after the death of my father. She passed her last six years immobile on a bed, totally paralyzed and almost unconscious, after the horrible stroke she had on 2004. Only her eyes were vivid all these years, the eyes who gazed me, with her unbelievable tenderness, every single day since then, when I was visiting her, for an hour or less every day. I was seeing my mother dying day after day after day, for six years long.

Fifteen days ago, my father died first in the adjacent room of their house. I am sure she understood what happened, she was very anxious after this. Two days later, I disappeared myself from her house, I could not visit her anymore, because of my broken foot. At that moment, she maybe felt that everything was over for her, that the persons to whom she totally devoted her life had left for ever. She died peacefully in her sleep, a few days later, at age 81. She was kind and tender all her life long, her life was love and devotion, nothing more, nothing less.

I lost my mother and I am unable to cry now. That is the most awful.