She talks to God
about not wanting
to turn eighty-three.
She is at peace
with this life she has lived,
having been through
enough birthdays,
anniversaries,
and Easters
to feel like she has not
missed anything.

There is a child-like
sweetness about her face,
with its wrinkles,
and soft edges around
the curve of her mouth.
There still lives
a mischievous twinkle
in the squint of her blue eyes.

The space around her
speaks of years of joy,
sadness,
peace,
and the belonging
to something greater
than I might ever know.
It speaks of great loves lost,
and a long, life
well lived.

She leans into me,
shoulders touching gently
as I sit on her hospital bed,
and tells me
with soft voice
and ease of mind,
that she has asked God
for a long nap.