If I Had a Hummingbird

If I had a hummingbird, my life would be complete. Gladys is eighty-six, dying of bone cancer. I wish I could round up a bunch of hummingbirds. But how would I go about it? I fluff her pillow, and she moans. I apologize, and she smiles, not able to croak out much more. Everything on her hurts. She is on morphine. The end is close. I hear the dreaded death rattle; I have heard it all week. Her eyes close. She is gasping, open mouth breathing. It is not pretty. Her eyes open. There it is! She says. My hummingbird. End of this life, but a new fresh beginning.