A year ago
my Mom had a stroke
and was taken, after lots
of phone-calls
between Bonn, Stuttgart and
Bad Nenndorf,
to a clinic an hour away
from her home.
She got three stents in an
emergency surgery.
Exactly a year ago
on a Monday
I booked a room in a hotel
close to the clinic:
From Wednesday to Saturday.

A whole wild month would follow.
Christiane Weissmann would not
return to her home.
Instead, she was called back
to a vaster home.
On August 26, she died, in an asylum
for seniors.
I was lucky, and I was happy
to have been with her,
fed her a last icecream
took her to the toilet –
what a huge adventure! –
held vigil silently,
held her hand, said good-bye,
thankfully, and she, did so
as well.

This happened only around 30 hours
before she left her body, against whom
she had so often struggled.

A month of mourning has started,
privately, it just happened.
I feel transparent, since some days

It’s my mother,
whispering to me.