Wednesday was your least favorite day and you died on a Wednesday.
After living for sixty-four years, you became sick and you passed away.
The eleventh anniversary of your death is on your least favorite day of the week.
I thought things were fine at first but then I learned that your situation was bleak.
When you went to the hospital, you had to go under the knife.
The surgeon tried his very best but he could not save your life.
He operated on your stomach and your leg had to be amputated.
But you still died and when I found you dead, I was devastated.
When I learned you were terminal, it was hard to understand it.
Rest In Peace, Mom, you were the greatest mother on the planet.