This is an excerpt from something I wrote in 1988 when I learned that my mother had cancer:
Gentle Jesus, comfort us all.
Comfort Madeline who doesn’t want to go to sleep
and help us all accept
our inevitable time to sleep.
But wake us again in a happier place,
well rested and full of light and love.
As a child on vacation,
I had to endure many hours at a time on the road.
Mom always told me to lie down and go to sleep,
and when I woke up, maybe we’d be at Grammy’s house.
I wonder if that is what it’s like to die?
When we wake up, we’ll be at Grammy’s.
The journey passes with our father at the wheel.
Our only job is to rest while he takes care of us.