And on that last Mothers Day, br when the birch leaves br fluttered pale gold, br and the magpies chortled br in the garden, br and the children gathered br round the big bed br clutching the presents br (all edible) br that they knew you’d share, br br You looked into their eager faces br and their cards (hand made) br and said: br ‘I’m so lucky. br So lucky to have br my lovely family all around me’. br br And your eyes sank deep in their bank of pillows, br your back bent into a question mark, br your knees making a tent of the doona. br br The books that lined your room, br you’d read again and again: br ‘I’ve usually forgotten what happens, br but they’re always pleasantly familiar’. br br The children opened the sugared almonds br (your favorites for as long as I can remember) br You handed them round the circle, br sucking yours gingerly: br ‘Don’t want to break these teeth br now that Malcolm’s not round to fix them’. br br Eight weeks later br pneumonia allowed you a graceful exit. br It was your eighty eighth birthday.