I remember that sad day,
that seemed like only yesterday,
but was nine years ago now
- October 24, 2010 -
the day my mother died.

We'd brought her home from the hospice
to the place she declared
where she wanted to die --
at home
her home
with her family around.

A place she'd lived in, independently
for 55 years
of her 93 year life.

A hospital bed in the middle
of her living room,
which became her dying room
as she laid there
catatonic,
and we all gathered around.

It took two days for her to die!

She woke once to say,
"I'm afraid."

There were a dozen of us sitting around her,
holding her hand
stroking her head,
or just watching and praying.

One said,
"It's OK, we are all here.
We love you.
You can go now."

I think it was one of her granddaughters.

But it took another 24 hours.

I remember wanting her to feel love,
and to hear beautiful music.
I brought a DVD to play on her TV
there in the living room.
The Canadian Tenors.

We sat around her,
held her hands,
and sang
The Halleluiah Chorus,
along with the Tenors.

Alleluia
Alleluia
Allelu-u-u-u-u-lia

We slept where we could,
someone, or several, always keeping vigil.
Talking gently or singing.

Alleluia
Alleluia
Allelu-u-u-u-u-lia

We were all there when she breathed her last breath.
It released a river of tears,
but relief too,
that her suffering was over.

We kissed her, and hugged her,
said our last goodbyes.

When the morticians came to take her away,
they wrapped the blankets around her
like a hammock.

I remember thinking,
how small she looked now --
a shriveled shell of her former self.
It didn't look like her anymore.

They took her away that day,
while the family wept,
and comforted each other.

We stayed a while
and prayed
and sang.

Alleluia
Alleluia
Allelu-u-u-u-u-lia

I miss you mom,
especially on mother's day!