I saw disease kill my mother slowly,
destroying her movement.

No matter how much the death expected,
shock stains the grief.

It made me stupid in silly ways:
I brewed a cup of coffee
and put it in the fridge;
my consciousness was clumsy,
for hours, days.

Those around who care can give resolve.
Even my run off cat observed
and fussed me her affection.

Here.
I know your pain.
Let me help.