Maternal Affection, Arthur Fitzwilliam Tait, 1868. On display at The Mark Twain House & Museum.
The deer haunt me, as the mother deer sits and washes its child. Washes the dirt away, the leaves away, the pain away. The cowering baby protected by this maternal love. The mother’s time is running thin.
When does eternal love end? Does it end when the mother deer is in the hospital and didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to worry? Or does it end when you’re in your fifties and she’s lived a full life?
I thought that maternal love didn’t expire, so why are you pale and sickly in your hospital gown watching reruns of the Big Bang Theory that you say you’ve seen a million times? Why are you avoiding the discussion of your test results and instead expressing your regrets that Richard Simmons died and it was probably because they gave him some of the hospital food you are being served? Why are you avoiding the possibility that this might be just a silly little dizzy spell or our final moments?
Please tell me your maternal love will not expire.