The Flame Thrower

One year ago today, I saw my mother's last breath. I saw her final moment here on earth and it was peaceful, quiet, beautiful and tragic.  I had never seen anyone die until that moment.  She and I alone, in a room she had been sent to die in.  A room, in a house,  that was hers and ours for her final nine days.  Gone from this life but I believe the life she lived for her last two and a half months was an absent life for her but an eternal life lesson for her survivors. She was essentially non existent but her presence had enormous meaning.  We were meant to grow  and learn, love and inspire. We do not need to be vocal to be heard or alive to be felt. A life can take on meaning far beyond the extant moment it occupies at present.  A life can be inspiring even when it is less than it once was, essentially a symbol, an offering, a directive. A life that has moved on, can be the forecaster that is meant to lead.  It can be the future far before it's time.  A  precursor to what we are accustomed  to, but a future none the less.  My Mother's life was a beacon,  lighting the way, while she lived and her death was the light fading and pausing, waiting for a new flame thrower.