Her brown eyes accusing me, from that hopeless bed of pain. Only a mother who had devoted her life to easing the pain of her children.
Torture is sanctioned for mothers-encouraged by our traditions.
Skeleton collapsing on her vital organs, little by little. Sending older children at night to Grandmother's house for bags of coal, Suffering for the son who robbed the post office to buy candy for the little ones. In a neighboring province, desperately seeking jobs somewhere. A fighting Irish father who, brave to the 'end Dying of cancer and too much alcohol and far too much despair, Succumbed at last in the grease beneath a crippled car, Tools of his proud trade in hand. She had found a way-a cruel way for none but the very brave and strong.