A Dying Prayer, Part 2

She’s gone.



When I heard the words, I closed my eyes and breathed in to absorb them; to absorb the truth. I had to breath and sit still to hold onto serenity, to sanity. Because my soul was screaming and tearing and ripping that this could not be right, this could not be how her story – how our story as mother and daughter – ended. So, I had to move and think very slowly and deliberately to keep the gnashing and wailing at bay.

The ache in my chest welled up.

And then the woman from Hospice spoke again. I had forgotten I was still holding my phone to my ear. I had forgotten I was in my car, that I had a body, that I was here.

When she spoke she said, “Now, I know this is hard, but I need to tell you some things.”

“Ok.”

“Since your mother has died, we need to move her body now. Bodies start to decompose in a matter of hours. In order to move her, we need someone to pay for that. Do you have a credit card? If you do, I can take your credit card number right now so that we can have her moved to a funeral parlor.”

“Uh, yes. I do.”

“Ok, that will be about $350.00”

My brain started functioning slightly again at this jolt of reality.
“Did my mom ask you to call me? Why didn’t you call before?”

“Your mom wanted us to call.But until today the man said he didn’t have your number, the man that was here with her.’

“A man?”

“Yes. I asked him all week since she got here for your number. She did tell us she had a daughter. But she couldn’t remember your number and she didn’t have it with her. But the man did. He wouldn’t give us your number until today, though, when we knew she was going to go any minute.”

I winced, confused.

She noticed the pause. “We had told him someone wold have to pay for her removal. That’s when he finally gave us your number, at the end.”

A tornado whirled inside my head. So, this coward had kept me from my mom, kept me form knowing she was in Hospice, and then handed me the bill upon her death. I realized who it had to have been.

And yet, my hugest fear had been that I woud not know. She had disappeared for months at a time more than once. I lived with dread that she would die and I would not know. That she would have no I.D., no belongings, and no one to let me know. I would finally have to visit hospitals, jails, morgues, and ID her myself. I prayed fervently that this would not be the case.

That prayer was answered with a resounding “yes.”