Who’s Your Mother?

She lay there dying. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow.  The time we tried so hard to stave off had arrived.  The room began to shrink. My head felt light. Somewhere in the distance I heard my sister's voice begin the final prayer in preparation for Mom's departure. Our mother took one last breath, and then she was gone. 

My brothers and sisters were all around, but I hadn't noticed them before. The silence was broken by muffled sobs. 

Staring at her face, I noticed the lines had softened. She was free from all her suffering.  I touched her hand and thought back to when I held that hand to cross the street as a little girl. I remembered them as she brushed my hair and could still feel her gentle hands gather me up.  They lay so still now.  Their work all done.  

And there we were, all seven of us, motherless.  Middle Ages orphans.