Hymns

NaPoWriMo 2025, Day 27

I don’t recall how conflicted I was then
about the fact that the hymns
I sang at your bedside
were fading echoes of a place I’d left behind.
I still knew the music,
and the lyrics had the bittersweet mouthfeel
of home, poignantly nostalgic
for a place to which I could never return.
“Can you give me a blessing?”
you once asked,
sometime before you lost the ability
to ever speak again.
I had learned from you to always be honest,
and perhaps that is what kept me
from going through the motions
of laying my hands on your head to pray.
“I can’t do that, Mom…” I had said,
as I looked into your pleading eyes.
I blinked back tears as I squeezed your hand,
“But I can sing you another hymn.”