As a young adult I grilled my first steak
And had to call my mom to ask how long it would take.
“Slap her on, smoke a cigarette, flip her over,”
She explained, “Smoke another and she’s done.”

Mind you, I wasn’t a smoker
So her guidance was a bit vague
“How long does a cigarette take?”
I asked, and she laughed.

“About half the time it takes
to grill a good steak,” she replied.
In frustration, I simply sighed.
It was like much of Mom’s advice.

Today I look back and cherish the story
As well as the memory of her death
For as she drew her last breaths
We made peace with each other.

Mom was rough around the edges
And driven by demons rarely mentioned,
These monsters made decisions
Which darkened my life as well as hers.

Sometimes I blamed her for the darkness
But as she approached the end of her life
She met face-to-face with her regrets
Horrified by the damage she saw.

Awakening one evening
She asked me for a bath
And as I gently washed her tired skin
Tears fell down her cheeks.

“Bad mom, bad mom” she said between sobs.
To die with this on her mind?
Her actions had earned the term
But there were good memories too.

Handmade Halloween costumes
A frog, a clown, even a guitar
Tobogganing down the backyard hill
Christmas carols, reading music and words

Be kind to friends, and strangers too.
Learning to drive, and basketball games
I taught her to skateboard
White-haired old lady coming through!

My words spilled out faster than her laments
And we embraced, her nakedness
As pure as her remorse.
One more cigarette, our demons rising in the smoke.

And she was done.