My mother passed away six years ago today. The anniversary of her passing is just ten days after that of my father. Adds a little bristle to the late autumn chill.
She was a fighter. Challenged by heart and kidney disease for the last five years of her life, she shuttled and was shuttled to innumerable nurse practitioners and specialists and not-so-specialists and clinics and rehabs and hospitals and waiting rooms and nursing homes and...you name it. Frustration found its way into her demeanor on occasion, but, for some reason, there was an overwhelming sense of hope in her heart that life was going to return to normalcy sometime, maybe soon, maybe later, but sometime.
She was fully prepared for such a final act--from pre-paid funeral to fully-covered life insurance policies to signing the house over to her kids. Except for the hideous bureaucracy one has to encounter when dealing with a sick elderly parent, our work was pretty simple when it came to letting her go, and moving on.