Oatmeal Sunday Morning

I feigned taking a bite attempting, of course, to convince her oatmeal was yummy, "good for her" necessary etc. I made rhymes of moons and spoons oats and boats, little girls wearing coats She smiled, but refused to take a bite as she had nearly every day now for months I turned to reach a paper towel to mop up the inevitable drips caught in the palm of my hand spoons and cupped hands they are the same thing, right? I never heard a death rattle of course, these old ears of mine... The hospice nurse gently closed her eyes. I said, "Goodbye Mother," and wondered how it had happened so quickly, those sixty-nine years we shared.