Each day in God’s hands

The road is long.
With some off roads.
Filled with worries.
Then with a calm.

Sleep gives me rest.
But her nights endless.
She talks of home.
Pointing up. Looking up.

The stay in hospital.
Has taken a toll on her.
The probing and prodding.
Her mind tortured.

I try to reasure her.
She’s not in hospital.
But in my bedroom.
She has a vacant look.

Her bedroom, mine now.
A split level home in chaos.
Not friendly for the aged.
She thinks she’s in hospital.

From one minute to the next.
She is either here, alert.
Or lost in the beyond.
I fear this the most.

She doesn’t want to leave us.
Yet, she says goodbye.
She becomes sad and cries.
Then she forgets and laugh.

She has recovered much.
Care and exercise given.
Each day in God’s hands
Some better, hope not lost.

I will do my best to care.
To God I ask His compassion.
If all that is left is suffering.
To God I ask His mercy.

By C.E. Pereira
(26-3-2019)

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