She rested in the hospital bed by the fireplace and felt its warmth as snow piled outside the window. She listened to squirrels rustling in the farmhouse wall.
They told her Father Russo was coming to see her later.
“I’m not ready for last rites.”
She fought sleep but dozed off. Her breathing shallow, she dreamt the squirrels were angels singing.
She woke startled, her son beside her.
“Am I dead?” she asked.
“Do I look like an angel, Ma?”
Smiling, she gazed out the window at the falling snow and somber sky, wondering if heaven would be that peaceful.