Lady in Red

A family gathering – Mother’s ninety-fifth.
The spirit stronger than the flesh
and yet she blew out every candle – one puff.
The cake, she observed, clearly not home-made
but passable.
Quite a character she was.
At her behest, bought her the latest camera –
tried to teach her how to use it.
“Too technical for me,” she quipped.
“May I suggest you lot take the photos?”
So we obliged – displayed them as a slide-show
on our forty-two inch plasma.

Mother seemed un-phased by this modern innovation.
Took it all in her stride, downed her third glass of sherry,
great grandson on her knee.
Truly amazing this reality TV,” she said,
eyes glued to the screen, admiring every shot.
“Except … hold my glass a minute.
It seems I need my specs.
Yes, there she is, over by the window.
Who is that lady in red?
She looks somewhat familiar.”
“Why, that’s you, Mum,” I said.
“I’m not senile, yet!” she snapped.
“No, I mean the woman to my left, looking in.”

I couldn’t see a thing except a vague reflection
so I laughed, made light of it. Remarked my eyesight
not as keen as hers. One week later she passed away
died quietly in her sleep, a smile still on her lips
I remembered as a child meant, ‘Mother’s always right.’
“Amen,” I whispered … to the lady in red.