I told my mother the previous morning it was ok to let go. My stepsiblings and I were going to be alright. My father and stepfather were waiting for her. They were at the bar, with Bloody Mary and Old Fashioned’s in hand and sharing war and frat boy stories. They were looking forward to seeing her again.
My mother was napping peacefully as my stepbrother and I waited with her in the room for the ambulance to transport my mother from the hospital back to Christwood, her home, for the past three years. She would be entering hospice. I had signed all the paperwork a few days before. Someone from the hospice place would be meeting me there to let me know what to expect next.
The door to her hospital room opened, and my mother walked in. She looked ten years younger, with fresh makeup and a new haircut. She was wearing her favorite outfit, a white skirt, with a pale green print, and white sandals. She carried her favorite Dooney and Bourke handbag. My mother walked to the end of the hospital bed and glanced at herself lying in the bed.
She turned to look at me and my stepbrother as we sat next to her bedside. Catching my eye, she smiled and waved. With one last glance at herself lying in bed, my mother faded away.