My 91-year-old mother died in front of my eyes Wednesday. She had been fussing to us about “feeling rough” and she decided that the problem was the street construction in front of her house exciting her allergies.
Her remedy for that was to ask me to come get her and take her for a drive so she wouldn’t have to listen to the thumping and grinding of the machinery for a while. When I arrived at her home, she said that LifeLine had called and said that their unit wasn’t getting any power. So I got on the phone with them, with my back turned to my mother, who was sitting on the side of her bed.
When I hung up from that conversation, I turned around and in that instant, she went unconscious and fell off the bed and onto the floor. No response. I called EMS and they had a truck there in about three or four minutes. Amazing. They managed to get her heart restarted, but when we got her to the hospital, it was obvious it was hopeless and she expired after about an hour. Honestly, I think that she had subconsciously willed herself to last until I arrived to have the attack. (If that is possible, believe me, she would have done it.)
She lived a long life, the way she wanted it. This photo is of my parents either on a date or shortly after they got married—I always marveled at how well turned out they both were in shots like this one—dad in a tie and hat and mother all spiffy. She and my dad were unusual in this world of constant change: married for 72 years and in the same house for 70 years. My dad died this January.
Rest in peace.