My mother’s breathing was ragged.
I held her left hand with each labored gasp.
My dad, her husband of almost 59 years, gripped her right.
This item is available in full to subscribers.
To continue reading, you will need to either log in to your subscriber account, or purchase a new subscription.
If you are a current print subscriber, you can set up a free website account and connect your subscription to it by clicking here.
If you are a digital subscriber with an active, online-only subscription then you already have an account here. Just reset your password if you've not yet logged in to your account on this new site.
Otherwise, click here to view your options for subscribing.
Please log in to continue |
My mother’s breathing was ragged.
I held her left hand with each labored gasp.
My dad, her husband of almost 59 years, gripped her right.
As she breathed slowly, shallowly, my dad cried out, “Save a place for me in heaven.”
Tears fell down the face of my sister, who sat at the foot of the bed.
We watched 79 years of life and an 11-year battle with breast cancer come to an end.
Our mother was gone.
The pictures on the bedroom wall spoke to what was important to mom: family.
Photos of each of her three children and their partners on their wedding days stood like sentinels overlooking her bed. The faces of her seven grandkids peered out from picture frames.
A devoted husband looked on adoringly.
Happy memories.
I thought of my three daughters — all of whom were born during mom’s long fight with cancer.
Days before her death, they stood at their grandmother’s bedside and sang “Jesus Loves Me.”
But what will they remember about their grandma?
For me, June 2, 2013, always will be a day of sadness.