Sunday, April 29, 2012

a Sunday in late April

I got up about 6:30 this morning, slung my arms into a cotton robe and headed downstairs to check on mother. I could hear her breathing with the same pattern I have become accustomed to these past weeks, slow and steady. On to the kitchen, with coffee mug in hand I entered the sun room and began my morning's quiet time.

The family stirred and I knew it was time to get a move on if I was even considering attending church service today. I went back into mother's room and opened the blinds as I began talking to her trying to get her awake enough to measure her pain level. She was sleeping comfortably. With the arrival of our private aid we determined we would change and reposition her while she was in this quiet state. After seeing she was sleeping without discomfort, I decided I would definitely go to church, cell phone clutched tightly in my hand.

I entered mother's bedroom after being gone about a span of two hours. Mother's breathing had changed considerably within that period of time. Within two minutes of me walking into the room, mother breathed her last breath. Peacefully, just like Charlotte had prayed.

let's talk Shakespeare

And Shakespeare? He, indeed, is not to be classed, and timed, and treated as one amongst others,—he, who might well be the daily bread of th...