Work Is Done

My friend about whom I have been writing recently, died yesterday at mid-afternoon.

Her heart finally accepted the verdict her consciousness had made a couple of days ago. So they removed her oxxygen assist, provided sufficient morphine for her to relax, not struggle, into that ecstasy we fight against our whole lives, and we waited.

For perhaps an hour her breath slowed and grew more shallow. Her daughter stroked her arm and cheek and assured her and thanked her.

In a moment too subtle to accurately record she seemed to draw a tiny breath followed almost immediately by a nearly imperceptible exhale. Then, as if to trust the very universe with her, she never took another. We all looked at each other, wept, smiled, said good bye, kissed her one last time. And left.

As we left her room her daughter said, "You know, I'm not scared to die any more."

One more huge gift to the wonderful woman to whom she gave life, and to an anxious world.