Seems like Muth helped herself to a few sweet days akin to that at the end of her life. Lying on her bed, stuffed toy moose tucked into her right hand, a prayer shawl draped over her covers, she slept for hours and days surrounded by her five daughters. It was a bit of a crazy-making time for the daughters—no familiar frame of reference, no prior experience, no apparent end in sight for way longer than seemed possible—but we rolled with it, and I look back on the sweetness, tears, astonishment, gallows humor, and nonsensical activities that all made sense at the time, and I wouldn't change it. I had my travel art kit, Joany knit, Barby worked newspaper word puzzles, Lauren dealt out hands of Idiot's Delight on top of Muth's covers, Marjorie played Minesweeper, and Muth hung out with us. She knew where we all were, we were all safe, she had her eyes closed. How could heaven be better?
|In the Nursery|
8x10", mixed media on watercolor paper