Mom's Ascension

November 6, 1981

It was, or what seemed to be, a typical friday morning. I was combing my hair when Dr. Ganchan appeared in the open doorway. He had dark circles under his blood shot eyes. It seemed no one was getting much sleep in the house these days.

"It's time," he said, then turned and went back to the room.

I set my comb down and stared at myself in the mirror. Tears began to flood my eyes.

"No," I whispered to myself in the mirror. "It can't be. I'm not ready."

I slowly made my way into the adjacent bedroom. Dr. Ganchan was standing on the far side of the bed. Father Preble was there, too, sitting in the chair that had all too often been the sleeping spot for either him or Dr. Ganchan.

And then I saw her. There she was, her body frail and white. And that awful oxygen tube in her nose! Oh, how I hated that thing -- it had become a constant reminder of sickness and decay. I sat down on the end of the bed and began to gently caress her feet. The disease that had so brutally attacked my mother was now claiming its victory. Tears which I had learned to keep locked away inside now flowed freely down my cheeks. I focused all my energy on my Mom, hoping to somehow energize her body with my strength. Her breathing was shallow. Involuntary muscle spasms constantly jerked parts of her body.

By this time my younger brother, Tom, was also in the room. Dad, of course, was sitting up next to Mom on the bed. The whole scene felt like a dream. There seemed to be a comforting presence throughout the room. It was horribly tragic yet peacefully calming all at once. To describe it would require words that I cannot find in any dictionary.

Suddenly Mom began muttering the word "love" over and over. Her eyes closed, her body jerking, her shallow breath... still she muttered "love, love, love."

Dad, sitting next to her on the bed, scooped her up in his arms and held her close. He rocked her back and forth, all the while weeping and saying, "yes, Honey, I love you, too."

The entire room was focused on this one scene. It was as if by muttering the word she was surrounding us with her love. The dream-like "presence" I had been feeling began to intensify. For a moment it seemed we were frozen in time. This one moment in time. A feeling of intense pain, emotional relief, sudden grief and immense awe would forever be inscribed on my soul.

With her last breath she again repeated it, "love."

"No!" Dad whispered beneath his sobs, "I love you."

Dr. Ganchan reached over and turned off the oxygen, shattering the dream-like state.

"Don't do that," I thought to myself. "What if she really isn't dead? What if I am only dreaming? What if...?"

-------------------

- Written by Jami Rae Miller-Garrison, daughter of Lois Ellen Miller