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I think today may be my mother's last.

Together with my father, we were up every three hours last night trying to keep her as comfortable as humanly possible. The hospice nurse came about midnight because Mom was in a crisis. My intuition told me beforehand to call her. I'm so glad I did! Upon her arrival, she changed Mom's medication orders and stayed with us until Mom relaxed enough to fall asleep.

Throughout the night I gave my mother her new medication (liquid drops under her tongue). At the same time, my dad held the breathing inhalation in front of her nose: a much easier way for mother to take a breathing treatment. That night, for the first time I saw my dad collapse on their bed afterward and cry like a wounded soul. My heart aches for him in much the same way as it does for my mother.

This morning it all began again about 6:30. My mom is wracked with pain and suffering. Very early, as she lay on her bed I gently bathed her lightly with a soft cloth. Her body reminded me of a new born baby bird: bald and featherless. Her skin felt smooth and fragile. My sister, Brenda caressed nearly every inch of her body with delicate lotion. Together we changed her night gown. Per Gods plan, Mother will leave this earth much like she entered it. And so it is with each and every one of us.

Mom wanted to get out of her bed. We could barely understand her words yet the last bit of her spirit was strong and mighty. She willed us to comprehend every thing she wanted us to know. Mom fought to sit in her favorite chair even though her body ached with every minuscule movement. I believe she knew this was her last ounce of any possible control. She knew if she stayed in bed that she may never get out of it again. Perhaps she didn't want to die there; in the bed she had long shared with my father. It would be too difficult for him afterward.

My mom is fighting with all her might. Her ending journey is not easy. How I wish we could do something to ease her suffering. We love our mother so very much. How we wish we could keep her here: healthy and alive. But, that is not to be.

None of us are ready to let her go, and yet we must. It is close.