A Month Ago
A month ago today on October 13, 2017, I held your hand while praying. Your eyes were closed and unresponsive. Except for the slight bobbing of your head as your neck muscles pull your head to draw in air, you seemed oblivious to what was happening.
And yet, I knew your mind was awake and you heard me praying. I knew you felt me squeeze your hand. I knew you were aware we were alone in the room. You were admitted in the hospice center after falling off the recliner bed at home. I saw your decline in mental and cognitive status within four days of your admission. You could not talk to me but I felt your spirit yearning to be with me.
You did not die alone. I was there keeping the vigil and praying unceasingly. I was there until you drew your last breath. It gives me peace to know that you did not die alone in a sterile place away from your home and family. I was with you till the very end.
And yet, I knew your mind was awake and you heard me praying. I knew you felt me squeeze your hand. I knew you were aware we were alone in the room. You were admitted in the hospice center after falling off the recliner bed at home. I saw your decline in mental and cognitive status within four days of your admission. You could not talk to me but I felt your spirit yearning to be with me.
You did not die alone. I was there keeping the vigil and praying unceasingly. I was there until you drew your last breath. It gives me peace to know that you did not die alone in a sterile place away from your home and family. I was with you till the very end.