Remembering

I've been gone from California for the last five weeks. Five weeks ago, I received a call from my sister in New Jersey that my mom had had a stroke, fallen and broken her neck, and was in a lot of pain. None of this was good news. I hopped on the next flight and headed to my home state, my childhood home, and my childhood bedroom. Everything was the same as when I was growing up but my mother wasn't there to greet me at the door. My brother, sister and I, went to the hospital each day, all day, for the next two weeks. Although my mom couldn't speak and was in a neck brace, she could communicate by nodding her head slightly up and down or left and right. I think they were the longest two weeks of my life. This wasn't my mom's first stroke. She had one two years ago but recovered almost overnight. This one was different. She didn't regain her voice or the use of her legs and arm. She could move only her left arm and tried desperately to communicate. We couldn't figure out what she wanted to say. At the end of two weeks my mom gave up her struggle. It was a peaceful ending. She lifted her hand to her heart and closed her eyes. It was a privilege to be with her during her transition to her next great adventure. The next three weeks were full of things that had to be done. And now only the memories remain.