When I woke up on December 27, I called the airline to change my ticket home- we were scheduled to leave the next day. I thought that there was a possibility that my mom might die in the next few days and that I wanted to be there for it. While I was on the phone with the airline, my dad came running into the room and said that he didn't think she was breathing. I immediately hung up the phone and ran into their bedroom with my husband. My mom was lying in her bed, propped up with her breathing machine on. She looked the same as usual- as if she was sleeping. My dad switched her breathing machine off and put his ear to her chest to see if he could hear her breathing. He couldn't hear anything, and we couldn't find a pulse. We all sat next to the bed while my dad called the on-call nurse to have her come over. When he got the nurse on the phone all he was able to say was "I think she's gone." As I sat down next to my mom, I picked up her hand to hold it, and I looked at the underside of her forearm. Something that normal people don't know is that when someone dies, all of the blood that is no longer being pumped through their body gets pulled down by gravity and pools. When I saw her arm I knew that she was dead. Her arm looked like someone had painted a roadmap on the underside of it. As soon as my dad hung up with the nurse I called my brother, who lived ten minutes away. All I could do was cry on the phone when he picked up, but he knew, and he simply said "I'll be right there."
Hours later, after the mortician had already come to take my mother's body away, I was sitting in her room, staring out the window right over her bed. By then it was afternoon. The window that I was looking through had an incredible view of the Superstition Mountains. It faced East. As I was sitting there, all of a sudden, bright beams of sunlight streamed through the window and settled on her hospital bed. I was overwhelmed with an unebelievable sense of relief. I was instantly reminded that although it was the saddest day of my life, that my mother was no longer in pain. It was as if she, or God, or something was there in the room with me. The window faced East, and it was afternoon. Sunlight doesn't usually bend back upon itself and go over rooftops to stream in windows like that. I don't know what that was, but it certainly wasn't something that happens every day.
Hours later, after the mortician had already come to take my mother's body away, I was sitting in her room, staring out the window right over her bed. By then it was afternoon. The window that I was looking through had an incredible view of the Superstition Mountains. It faced East. As I was sitting there, all of a sudden, bright beams of sunlight streamed through the window and settled on her hospital bed. I was overwhelmed with an unebelievable sense of relief. I was instantly reminded that although it was the saddest day of my life, that my mother was no longer in pain. It was as if she, or God, or something was there in the room with me. The window faced East, and it was afternoon. Sunlight doesn't usually bend back upon itself and go over rooftops to stream in windows like that. I don't know what that was, but it certainly wasn't something that happens every day.
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