By Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
My mom, Audra, stared at the room—wide-eyed without blinking. She didn’t remember us, her children? Her head tilted slightly and her mouth opened. My sister propped a pillow under her head, and Mom moaned.
On top of Alzheimer’s she’d suffered a stroke, and grunting was her only form of communication. She couldn’t walk, laugh, or even do normal things. Hospice was there and all we could do was wait.
“Mom, it’s Richie. Just rest now; we’re all here.”
Mom closed her eyes and I kissed her frail cheek.
Pain and suffering came to an end. She was finally at peace.
So sorry for your loss. Keep writing about it, as difficult it might be, it is therapeutic.
This one brings tears to the eyes–and rightfully so. How true to life it is!