Work Is Done

Yesterday afternoon at 3:26 my friend finished her work. She had been doing work none of us can imagine until it is our turn. Her husband and children have rallied round her, encouraging her, acting as her cheering section even while their hearts were breaking. And, so long as she was able to communicate, she communicated only good cheer for them as if they were the ones doing all the hard work.

And I think they were.

She finished her work a couple of days ago. It took her those final two days to persuade her heart it was all right to stop. She had released her consciousness and slipped into whatever blissful state it is to be physically alive but have your mind and consciousness floating in morphene.

Brave family. Brave lady. Dear friend. Her husband and I have been friends since we were 16, 50 years ago, and she was his girlfriend even then.

I don't know when it has been more clear that the time had come. Or when a family, heartbroken, has given such grace-filled permission to accept that the time has come.

Her daughter who held her hand as her heart finally agreed, said she had lost her fear of dying. Her mother's final gift.