Should I go home for the night, or should I stay? I vacillated back and forth. Finally, I decided to go to my car, fetch a quilt, and cozy up in the love seat until my sister from Omaha arrives. It would only be a couple more hours. Coming back into her room, I checked on her again. She was sleeping so peacefully. Putting my mouth next to her nearly-deaf ear, I said, "Mom, I'm here with you. I love you." No response, just as it had been all day.
Rather than curling up on the love seat, I decided to sit in her recliner. I looked through her Bible. I found her devotional book, with the bookmark on July 24. Had it been that long since she felt she could read from that book? I organized her magazine rack, throwing away Kleenexes and napkins and old church bulletins.
Suddenly, looking over at her, I felt I needed to check on her again. Throwing off the quilt, I stepped to her side and knew immediately. Can it really be? I touched her and she was as warm and soft as ever, but no rising of the chest. I felt for a pulse, knowing there would be none. I put my finger under her nose to feel the soft whoosh of a breath, knowing there would be none. I hugged her, crying tears of rejoicing and sorrow. Reluctantly I reached for the call bell. "She's gone," I said.
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Mom, I am glad that you were there with her at the end. She needed to know what was going on and you gave her what she needed. Thank you for giving her permission to go be with Jesus.
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