April was supposed to be the beginning of my writing odyssey in the mountains. I have not written a single word of the book I have started. The Universe had other plans for me. I am used to this. I roll with the waves.

On April 1, my ninety-three-year-old mother was diagnosed with double pneumonia, sepsis and a UTI. She was taken to the hospital. An IV of fluids and antibiotics was started. She faded. She pulled the IV out and screamed with every touch.

We decided what she needed was peace. We stood by her bed feeding her ice chips and finely chopped food. Hospice was set up for comfort measures. She rallied enough to be sent back to her nursing home next door.
An angry rash developed that robbed her of her peace. Its source has been the subject of speculation. Her withered hand was in constant movement.

Treatments were changed but the rash kept spreading. No one could stop it. Our hearts hurt for her. She finally rested. Many good people kept eyes on her, knew her, loved her. We were blessed beyond words.

Our final gift was she knew us, spoke to us with her usual grace and manner. Dementia let her loose for that last day. We were who we were there in Room 11. We were who we had always been.

She slept through the night. Mama was peaceful in the morning and left in a wink to be with all the people she loved on the other side. I had been reciting all their names for days,  in whispers. I do this to comfort myself that she will not be alone.

My only word for now is gratitude. My parents were the best they could be just as their parents had been. Many folks helped care for her, especially Debbie, Monique and Frances. We had angels with us the whole journey.

Gratitude for good end to a great life. That’s the word.

Thank you Mama Kiki