The Condition of Waiting
A year and a week ago my mother died. It was a Friday, and in ways much like and unlike the Friday we have just experienced. As hard as it is to say it - my mum had chosen to die; her long term illness had kept her in hospital debilitated and on dialysis. She chose to come home; she chose to come off dialysis; there was only one outcome. She wanted to see her birthday and Mother's Day; the timing was hopeful but not guaranteed. As it was - and I am not surprised by this - she lived long enough to celebrate both special days and spent a few sunny and warm March weeks surrounded by her own mementos, flowers and cards with daily visits from friends and relatives. By the grace of God all four of us, her children, managed to get time from work; come from other countries and spend time together, taking our old familiar, family roles in the home we had last lived in as teenagers. The night she died we had sat around the bed talking and laughing. It was my...
