My aunt has had a stroke.

She's one of the Tough Old Broads that run my family.
Her mother, my grandmother, died last winter.
They lived before plumbing, knew hand-crank phones,
Butchered farm animals while their husbands ran the mill.

Never said "I love you" to each other or their children.

Loved and sacrificed for them desperately, constantly,
With every breath they toiled for their children
Who saw them as relics.

In my family, the women are strong.
When they fall ill,
Need to be cared for,
They stay alive just long enough to make sure
Everything is in order, then they die peacefully.

My grandmother cancelled her magazine subscriptions.
The last one arrived on the day of her funeral.

I don't know if this stroke will kill Aunt Ruth.
I don't know if it'll put her in bed as it did HER aunt Hattie.
But it will be the remaining women who care for her,
And who will understand if she chooses to let go,
Once there's enough casserole in the freezer and potatoes in the cellar.