On This, the Eve of the Anniversary of my Mother's Death.

Thirteen years ago tonight, we got the call we'd been dreading -- and then resignedly awaiting --  for three years, ever since Mom was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Ironically, she was the one making the call.
"I'm going to Hospice," she breathed strenuously. "I'm calling to say goodbye. I love you."
"Mom! I love you, too. You wait for me! I'm coming!" I cried. I gathered my brother, my children, my husband, and we made the two-and-a-half hour trip to Dayton. It was after 10 p.m. when we arrived. Amazingly, as we pulled into the parking lot of Hospice of Dayton, so did my sister from Chicago and her family. My sister and brother from Columbus beat us there.
All six of us made it in time to spend Mom's last few hours by her side.
Only our sister who lived in Dayton, who had spent so much of her time during those years helping Dad care for Mom, wasn't there at the very end. She and Dad had gone to rest when we got there, thinking there would be more time.
We always think that, don't we?
And it seemed that Mom couldn't let go in front of them, as if doing so would somehow let them down since they'd spent so much time and effort keeping her alive and as comfortable as possible. So while they were there, she endured.
When they went home to rest, she began to let go. I've heard this happens all the time.
We sat around that bed, with our husbands keeping watch, and sang her favorite songs while she smiled and listened with her eyes closed.
We told all the old, family stories and  jokes.
Her breathing grew slower, but she hung on.
"Mom," we finally whispered, "It's okay to let go. It's okay to go now."
She sighed. It was okay.
And at the end, she opened her eyes and looked toward the bottom of the bed and whispered, "Daddy . . . "

I looked, but couldn't see the grandfather I'd never met. But I believe her beloved father came to escort her on her way. Why not?
She breathed her last, and we weren't sure. The nurse confirmed she was gone. And my brothers went to get Dad and our sister.
And you know, if she had to die, it was a good death. She didn't seem to suffer. We were with her. It could have been worse.
You'll know what the days that followed were like, if you've ever lost someone close. And we all stood by each other, and by Dad. We all still stand by each other 13 years later.
Tonight, we've chatted about Mom on our sibling text chain. Memories, jokes, silly things only we get.
We'll all call Dad tonight or tomorrow, to reminisce with him.
God blessed us, and continues to do so, because he gave us parents who taught us to care, even when it hurts.
Mom, you did a good job. Thanks for teaching us to follow in your footsteps.