Looking back, the last year of my Mom�s life was so hard. She had given up pieces of herself over time as her body failed her: first gardening, then going out to Church. Then my Dad died and there went her role as wife and partner. In the next year as she dealt with her grief her heart continued to fail and her spirit was weak. Her children were exhausted from the battle with Dad�s cancer and the weight of mourning. My brother came to live with her, which provided some companionship and some additional worries. I arranged for more home health care (a VERY good reason for Medicare-Medicaid). We came down to get probate done and take her to appointments; but no, her children were not as present as they could have been. It just hurt too much.

I remember on a trip to the CourtHouse we talked about her code status, whether she would want to be resuscitated. She smiled shyly and said, �I know I am real sick but I would like to have that last chance.� I told her not to worry, I would make sure things went like she wanted. Yes, I am the youngest but most of these conversations fell to me.

That spring we all came for Mother�s Day and took her to a garden for pictures. It was supposed to be a celebration and instead it was sad and poignant. Still, I have those pictures: my Mom in her wheelchair smiling sweetly but already too pale, her children surrounding her smiling with hollow eyes. And all around us the riotous colors of spring.

Throughout the year, I would get periodic calls at work from my Mom, brother or the home health nurse to tell me she was in the hospital. She had developed uterine cancer and could not be treated surgically because her heart was too weak. They felt the cancer was moot in light of her heart. With Congestive Heart Failure, you go in frequently for extra diuretics and O2 to get off excessive fluid. I had learned to call and check on her treatment before I left work to go to Charleston. In June, the nurse called to say Mom was being transported and I called to see if I needed to come. She was on a regular monitored floor but on a strong cardiac drug at twice the recommended max rate. She was having arrhythmias. I told them I wanted her transferred to ICU and called Les to tell him I would be going before he got home.

So the kids were all home again. There are five of us and only two people for each ICU patient were allowed in the waiting room. Visiting was two people every four hours for 10-15 minutes. Do the math�we were not going to have much time with her. But we had learned with Dad how to pull collectively; we got a hotel room near the hospital. One child stayed at the house an hour away to answer the phone, two stayed at the hotel and two at the hospital. At visitations one hotel and one hospital went in and we rotated. Worked out great except we saw very little of her. The regimen gave us focus. SCA friends sent a big basket of magazines, snack food and books to us in the waiting room. What a cool idea. We put it in the middle of the waiting room and all of our �new� waiting room friends shared. Trust me, so much more useful than flowers that you can�t have in the ICU anyway.

One day the Cardiologist came for our daily report and I could tell he was frustrated with Mom�s care. I asked if he was and he said he felt we were pushing too hard instead of accepting the fact of her mortality. I asked if he thought that was because of her children and he said yes. I told him about the CourtHouse and told him that if our Mom was ready, we were ready. He was surprised but went in to talk to her. He came back and said, �We are going to wean off treatment.�

One by one treatments were withdrawn. Mom was peaceful and calm about the whole thing. I knew she would either develop fluid and die short of breath or an arrhythmia and die abruptly and quickly. We talked and chose to have the last drug, an anti-arrhythmic, removed. Funny, that day the ICU let us sit at her bedside�rules suddenly don�t matter if you are REALLY going to die but do if you only MIGHT. I sat and held her hand and wondered why the pastor was staying so long. Suddenly my Mom opened her eyes and exclaimed, �Oh!� I looked up and she was in a lethal arrhythmia. I sat on her bed and held her and told the nurse who rushed in to get my sibs. And she was gone.

So, I have had the honor and privilege of being present to usher both my parents from this life in the gentlest way that I could. Just as they had ushered me into life and through life as well as they could. There was no more other generation. I went home to be the head of that branch of the family tree to my family. Me, the youngest was now the oldest. I miss the innocence and the knowing you could always come home.