My mother is vanishing. Her hair once lush and long, is gone. Her thick eyebrows replaced by pencilled arches. Her shrinking body no longer capable of painting bedroom walls.
Her mind erodes a little more each week. Her conversation, a stuck record, the same phrases repeated over and over again.
But she still remembers the songs she sang while she worked to keep our home humming.
Her love filled our childhood world. It was there in the clothing she made, the sweaters she knit, the sweets she saved to surprise us with.
But there are no sweet surprises anymore.
We are watching her vanish.
Soon she’ll be no more.
Our Mother is changing. The ice sheets she’s worn for millennia melting away. What were once majestic mountains of ice, now water.
Her atmosphere gets warmer each year. Captured carbon fuelling bigger storms, wilder weather. Her howling winds blow more furiously each hurricane season, in protest at our human destruction.
She provided us with forests, we cut them down. She provided us with oceans, we filled them with garbage. She provided us with soil, we denuded it with chemicals.
Where once was water, now the desert grows.
Where once birds sang, now silence sounds.
Soon we’ll be no more.
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