There she was in her late nineties, with terrible end stage congestive heart failure.  Coupled with that she had fractured a neck vertebra and had had a stroke.  Thrown in for good measure were a few seizures every now and then.  But none of that mattered.  She was the boss.

She ruled her family with an iron fist even though her children were in their seventies themselves.  No matter, they bowed to any wish or desire she had.  When I admitted her, she could barely write but the family would not sign the papers for her.  "Oh no, Mother wants to do it herself."  

She wasn't keen on having strangers invading her home.  She allowed me in as a favor to me.  Certainly she didn't need hospice care.  "I can't wait until I can drive again" was one of her favorite threats letting me and her family know that as soon as that happened, we would be left behind.

Spring turned to summer and she got worse.  Much, much worse.  Her body swelled up with fluid and she could hardly breathe.  "If only I could just walk around more I'd feel better."  She smiled and the room lit up as she pondered her future.  "I need to exercise more."  "Are you having pain Margaret?"I asked as she surveyed her kingdom.  "Well, sometimes my neck hurts" she acquiesced.

In the fall she started to sleep more.  "I'm just so tired." She stopped asking about driving.  "I need to walk more" she'd lament as debility started to take her over.  

Christmas came and she smiled again.  "Look at that tree!" she proudly boasted.  "It's beautiful."  I looked and saw an old tree with mismatched lights and ornaments that did the seventies proud.  "Yes," I agreed, "it is."   

As the new year started she slept even more.  Sometimes two days in a row.  Then three.  She'd wake up and be fine for a few days, then repeat the cycle.  Sleep, sleep, repeat.  Her appetite decreased.

"I'm worried."  "What are you worried about Margaret?"  "I don't want to die."  Silence.  There was nothing I could say.  She was going to die.  She was beginning to die.  She knew she was dying.  

One day she didn't get out of bed.  And then two days turned into three.  Three into four.  She didn't eat.  "Water."  "Get me water."  Days turned into weeks.  No food.  Just water.  And sleep.  She slept. And with sleep she stopped worrying.

When she died I was slightly shocked at how hard her family cried.  After all, she was nearly a hundred years old.  She'd been sick for so very long.  Surely they should'nt have to cry so hard.

But they did.  And suddenly, so did I.