The Last Gift

She'd just taken him home on Wednesday. Thursday, she collapsed. Dad took her to the hospital, and Rick and I waited by our phones for the call that said she'd been sent home, she was fine, all she needed was rest.

That call never came. Instead, she was taken immediately into intensive care. Her men were in a state of shock.

Also in the ICU waiting room was another family, composed of a slender, dark-haired young woman of around 20, her infant, and her 9-year-old brother, David. Their father was in intensive care as well. The family was Latino; David was the only one who spoke English.

This short little bull of a kid bravely interpreted all the complicated medical information that needed to be communicated between the medical staff and the family.

We all spent a lot of time in the course of a week in the waiting room of the ICU, waiting for the few precious minutes of each hour that we could visit our loved ones. Mom's prognosis was not good: late-stage emphysema complicated by severe diabetes. It soon became clear to all of us that Mom was dying.