Benediction

As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be.

Because I'd once been told what women always had done-    though neverhow, or why-after you died, the last tube taken out and gone,and they offered to leave us alone, I asked if I could wash you.

The soapy water was warm, as you were, still, and soft. The basin    was round.The towels and washcloths thick and white. And there was no    strangeness in it,really. And I didn't cry, and that, too, was part of the wonder.

I began with one smooth, pliant arm. As once you daily must  have done with me,as once you must have done at your own mother's death, I    carefully dipped one cloth,and carefully wrung it, and carefully bathed the whole freckled    length of your arm,

your docile hand, each finger light in its yielding.And though you had no choice in acquiescing to my love, I did    notrevel in my power, but slowly lifted, washed and patted dry each    limb, in turn,

your crooked toes and in between the toes; your shoulders,    breasts,the secret folds between your legs, thin pubic hairs, and with a    different cloth,which would have been your way, your face. I took my time. I lingered in this unexpected absence of condition    or demand.And when at last with nothing more to do, I sat beside your bed    and tookthe hand I'd long since lost the need to hold, and laid my grownup    hand inside:

Oh, familiar shape my fingers knew by heart and had forgottenthat they'd ever known. How long this total rightness had been    gone.And, as leisurely as once I must have done, when simple being    was enough

to please you, I let my eyes, without distraction, wander everytiny detail of your face, its astonishing calm. I saw again your    chin,unguarded; saw your knuckles worn, arthritic; sang a tune that    came

from who knows where: This is the hand that fed me,Hand that held me, Hand that punished me, Hand that led me.For hours, sunlight was the only thing that moved. And soon

would be gone. And your hand in mine, still warm!I stood to kiss your forehead. It was cold. But I had beenin the presence of holiness. World without end. And was done.