My Friend

My friend died Thursday afternoon.
Not in a sterile, beige hospital room
Surrounded with monitors and smells of disinfectant.
She died in her own bed
In her own room.
A room painted the warmest shade of coral
Which welcomed in the sunshine of a summer afternoon,
Surrounded by her bookcases filled with favorites.
"What are you reading"
She would often ask when we met.
"You really must read "Lamb In His Bosom" by Caroline Miller.
A true Southern classic"
She had told me.
And I did.
And now tomorrow her family will carry her urn of ashes
Up to the beloved, small mountain house by the lake.
She will finally be free
From the oxygen tubes,medicines,
And wheelchair.
She will glide gently across the still water
As her loved ones whisper,
Goodbye.