Work Is Done

My friend about whom I have been writing died yesterday afternoon.

Her stout heart finally accepted the verdict her consciousness had resolved a couple of days earlier, that she was finished. So her consciousness rested in whatever ecstasy a combination of morphene and floating unawareness may provide as we near our end.

She cheered on her grieving family as long as she was able, never complaining, never even seeming to mind - unless one of them said they minded - that she was going to die.

Her daughter was holding her hand when her heart finally stopped. Her daughter thanked her for being brave and wonderful. On the way out of her room her daughter said she was no longer afraid to die.

The last of countless gifts her mother gave to her.