TOGETHER | ARETHA MATT

TOGETHER

ARETHA MATT

Shimá sání

lay there quietly, eyes closed, breathing, seemingly unaware. Before she closed her eyes that day, shimá sání asked that we all come, sons, daughters, grandchildren, the family. She did not speak, maybe, it was because she had already left, or maybe, she just wanted to listen. For hours, she lay quietly and refused to go; she lay quietly and refused to come back. Before the sun set that day, shimá sání made the daughters weep, when her body finally told us, it was time; time to let go, time to say goodbye. Shimá, her daughter, cried out in agony and her body shook with disbelief; She was the oldest of her daughters and knew shimá sání the best.

Shimá and her sisters

held hands and sat around their mother’s bed; they watched and prayed as they disconnected their mother from this world and then cried like small children

when shimá sání took her last breath.

When they returned to the waiting room where the grandchildren quietly cried, they hugged us and wiped away our tears, Shimá sání, left us that day, together