Emergency Leave: 3

One night things took a final turn for the worse. I woke up to her calling my name: she had fallen on her way to the bathroom. I carried her back to bed, and tried to figure out whether or not she needed more pain medication. After a little while, I called the hospice nurse, Margie’s sister, Marie, and my sister.

Up until then hospice nurses had been occasionally stopping in to check her vital signs, but we didn’t really need them. After that, a nurse was there several times a day, and family members were around 24/7. I guess it was really only about three days… but it felt longer. Moments stretch to infinity at times like that.

All I can say about that time was that even those last moments with her were a blessing. To be the one who cared for her when she needed it most (she, who had so often been the one to care for me when I needed it most) was a privilege for which I am ineffably grateful. To hear her speak of my father in those last days, to know how fully she loved him, and how desperately she wanted to be reunited with him… to think that he has been the hinge that brought and held me and her together all these years… it was sad, but it was beautiful in its own sad way.

The funeral, too, was sad and beautiful. The church was full. I mean FULL. Standing-room-only, Christmas-eve-mass kind of full. She had picked out all of the music and readings, dolled out jobs to close relatives and friends, even picked out the casket. There were tears, of course, and laughter. It couldn’t have been any other way.