I Wish

I was nine years old when it happened. Mom had gone to the doctors' everyday for a month. I never understood. "Kemo" was a word I had never heard of, "Cancer" was a nightmare that went away easily. Little did I know.
I sat on my bed, looking out the window; waiting for Dad to drive up with Mom in the car. It never happened. She would never come back. I remeber being confused when Dad pulled up without Mom. He had sadness in his eyes, and was crying slightly. I walked into the living room to greet him.
"Why are you crying?" I asked, "Where's Mom?" Dad pulled me into a hug, he started crying even more.
He whispered into my ear, "Mom's dead." Sadness brushed over me, I pushed Dad away and ran to my room.
"She's not dead!" I yelled slamming my door. Hours passed, I could hear my dad outside my door, but he was to shy to come in. Mom was always the one who dealt with my depression. Finally my door opened, but it wasn't my dad; it was my older brother Eathan. He's only older by a year, but still.
"You okay?" Eathan asked, I could tell he's been crying.
"No, what about you?" I asked.
"Nope. Its hard to believe that she's gone." Eathan said.
"I know, are we going to survive this?" I asked.
"Probably." Eathan said. I pulled him into a hug. That night he slept in my room.

-A Mother Finds Her Rest-
And now she dwells where neither doubt nor fear
May find her best;
No crying child may now disturb her here
Or break her rest.
Ended the ache of living. Her she lies
In wonderous peace;
God left a smile about her lovely eyes
With her release
How oft we fretted her or caused her pain,
We cannot say;
Long hours she watched beside the window pane,
With us away.
Her sleep we broke with wimpering and sighs
When we were ill'
Nor thought it much to rouse her with our cries,
As children will.
But now we suffer so, and vainly call
For her to come;
Her feet will never tread against the hall,
Her lips are dumb.
Love had no more sweet service to provide,
But this we know:
She'll watch for us upon the other side,
Who tried her so.
Edgar. A. Guest