End of the vigil

After our three-day vigil, Mom finally stopped breathing on Friday evening at 7:11 p.m. We were all there, placing carryout orders for dinner, when Sis’s partner said something like, “This is it…gather around.”

We made sure Dad was standing by the bed. All the rest of us, including my older son and his fiancé, were there, too. Mom’s chest, which had been heaving with the effort to breathe, became still. Moments like that should be silent, reverent. But I’ll always remember the sound of rushing water – the toilet that wouldn’t stop running in the adjacent bathroom. Sis noted that Mom had always loved the ocean; maybe this ocean-like sound effect was especially for her.

I had made prior arrangements with a local funeral home for Mom’s cremation. The on-call hospice nurse was to come and prepare the death certificate, then call the funeral home representative, who, I was told, could be there in 10-15 minutes. However, due to traffic, the whole process, took about three hours. Finally, we said our last good-byes to Mom, draped in red velvet. Mom’s face was relaxed; death had removed all wrinkles and worry lines. I had always thought that was a trick performed by funeral directors.

At about 11 p.m., we all arrived at the nearby all-night diner, where we nourished our bodies and souls. There were many laughs over family memories and other stories, all part of the grieving and healing process.

When I finally got to bed at about 12:30 a.m., I thanked God for the blessings of family; for the many caring people who surrounded us all day; for Mom’s life and her care for all of us; for music and laughter in the midst of sadness; and, most of all, for the hope and assurance of life eternal.

Sue