Everything comes gradually at its appointed hour.

— Ovid

My mother had been in a deep sleep for three days, taking in no food at all, and a minimum of forced liquid. A “Do Not Resuscitate” sign hung over her bed. Every time I looked at the sign, I shuddered. The finality of the words chilled me, even though the heat in her bedroom was way too high.

She was 88 years old and had reached the end of a long illness. She was still in her own apartment, but I had arranged for round-the-clock nursing care for her; I did not leave her side during those three days.

On the fourth morning, a Sunday, I called my husband and asked him to pick me up and drive me home (some forty minutes from my mother’s apartment) so that I could get clean clothes. I had been wearing the same pair of jeans and blouse for four days, having had no idea when I arrived that the end was so near.

As we drove home that Sunday, my husband and I decided that before we went back to my mother’s apartment, we would stop at the funeral home to make arrangements. The doctor had said that she would not last more than a few days at most, and the previous evening, the visiting nurse agreed with his prognosis. We felt it would be better to make the funeral arrangements while we were still relatively calm, rather than after the emotional trauma of death had set in.

Once at my house, I quickly showered and dressed, then threw a few clothes into a shopping bag. We got back into the car. Suddenly, I told my husband that I had changed my mind about stopping off at the funeral home. And I did not want to take time to buy groceries, either. Something inside me told me that we had to get back to my mother in a hurry-before it was too late. — wow4u.com