She was there while your father, open eyed, fearful and rigid behind his thin bedroom door, she pushed his father up the stairs, cooing with promises of Dreams and Narnia.
She was with your father, there when the old man died, sweating and groaning in a piss stained bed, feebly grasping for the now empty whiskey bottle that had rolled out of reach. She was with him upstairs, trying to drown out the old man's cries by singing Irish Folk songs.
She had her hand on your shoulder when your best friend embraced that heavy speeding monster of a train. She was there for you when your Grandmother was thrown to the wind at the top of that mountain.
Her ashes caught in your throat, making you vomit.
You are here now, her hand in yours, feeling her last heartbeat push the blood through her veins for the last time. Hearing her throat constrict as the last breath leaves her body.
She was the Shepard that guided your family through all that blackness, and now you guide her through her own.
The least that could be done.
I'll see you on the other side.
for Lilly.
FatherCrow