At Peace

It's finally over. Even though it's been years in the making it feels very sudden. Mrs. Booth passed late on Sunday evening. We had just been to the hospice facility to get her settled and spend some time with her. We left and had a late dinner together and planned the next few days. They had given us a timeframe. Two to three weeks they said. But I knew better. Her body was giving out. The cancer was winning out. She looked frail and generally beat.

When we were in the hospital the morphine was doing nothing for her pain. They were on to dilaudid now. And to help her rest a dose of ativan. With the combination, she was out. She barely responded to our conversation. I sat there quietly with her alone for a moment. I watched her breathe. It was shallow and regular. Then for a moment it sounded coarse and was irregular, as if she couldn't catch her breath. Her mouth opened but her eyes stayed shut. I prayed for her to take another breath. She did so. Quietly and regularly again. This happened a couple more times while I was with her. I knew in my heart we were nearing the end but I wouldn't listen. Mr. Booth came back and sat with me. Kevin was there too, just getting off security detail. We sat and joked a bit. Anything to take our minds off her poor health. Motown hits played quietly in the background in hopes of helping her find some peace in the hectic emergency department.

That was only hours before she passed. After the call came, we all headed to the facility. It was nice there. Calm, warm and soothing. Just what a hospice place should be. As I walked in, Kevin, Karen and Mr. Booth were all around Mrs. Booth's body. I looked down at her pale face. There was a hint of a smile there. The beginnings of tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back. Mr. Booth rose from the bedside and hugged me. I held him tightly, wishing I could take his pain away. Kevin walked over and bent down so I could wrap my arms around him. I held him tightly, too. I felt his shoulders give in and his tears fell, soaking my shoulder. From somewhere deep inside I felt some strength. I knew I had to be strong. I couldn't cry along with him. Not now. He finally let go and we talked. To her. To each other. Mostly, I listened. That's what I was there for. To listen and to help.

Days have passed and the funeral is near. I'm starting to feel overwhelmed with emotions. I'm so upset that she won't be here for our wedding. I wanted her to have that dance with her son. The mother-son dance. The one where she beams proudly at Kevin as he leads her around the floor in front of everyone. He won't have that now. Our children won't know her. We'll tell them stories of how wonderful she was and all the mischief she got into when she was younger but they'll only know her from photos. I can say it's not fair but that's how life goes. I know I'm being selfish but it doesn't make the feelings go away.

For now, I am relieved. She's no longer in pain. She's with Him now. He will take care of her better than we ever could. I know she'll watch over us. And in some way she'll be at the wedding.