I found a hand written inscription in one of my older Journals (2005):

“My Mother talked of several things. She asked me what
I thought death was like. I told her I thought it might be like
being underwater, but that I didn’t think we could really know.
I told her I wasn’t afraid of death. She told me that she was,
now at the end of her journey. She has been feeling tired.”

I can hear your voice
in the ink across the page
still a river flows