Just a few minutes.

That is what I need right now. Just a few minutes to start the journey of navigating life without Mom. Oh. I know I will need more than just a few. Yet this is where I start. With a few minutes here and there to breathe. And remember. All the events of the last few weeks.

Before her consciousness was gone she told us over and over "I love you. And I always will." It was more than precious time. It was blessed time spent with Mom. Last week felt so slow while it was happening. We watched her breathe. We held her hand. Sister soothed her by putting cool cloth against her sometimes burning skin. We sang (not so well but with great emotion). We prayed. And we prayed. We told her we loved her. Over and over. We told her to go on. Dad was waiting for her.

Daughter. Sister. Nurse. That is what we were. We held each other. Mimi. Marsha. Amanda. Me. Peter when he could be there.
Stephanie and Harry arrived Friday afternoon and then Paulette at about 3:00. The ides of March.
6:35 p.m. Her soul left her body. I opened the back door. A train was going by.

I just can not find the words that say how it was. Every human being experiences the loss of their mother at some point. Each one. Yet. THIS one  is so different and so personal. I felt it and feel it so profoundly. It brought me to my knees. Thank you, Mimi, for covering me in your love and giving me the strength to stand again and walk out of her house. Without you I think I would have cried myself into a puddle on the floor.

In her last moments she saw beyond the room that held her. She spoke to heavenly beings.
On her last Monday, in a clear voice, Mom said, "I'm finished. I'm through with what I have to do for now." She held her rosary all the while she was conscious. And we made sure it was in her hand for all the rest of her life.

There is a sweetness in her passing. I will forever see the spring with deeper appreciation. I do feel her love. Love never dies.

Shalom.