Four days before my father died I asked him, as I had each day during the past many weeks, whether he was happy to be waking up. He always indicated he was — he was not able to speak via words back then — until the Saturday before he died at which time he managed to utter a single word, no. It took him another four days to exit this mortal plane because, as we would soon come to learn, he had a last act of love to accomplish.
He was always a very verbal guy. Many thought he was a quiet one, but among loved ones he was not (they said much the same thing about my fave fab four, George).
My mother is proceeding differently. She has, quite determinedly, gone about her tasks of making her life come to a close — quickly gone through the transitions, they say — and had nary a word to say along the way. To paraphrase the nice line from the hospice booklet, she is no longer in need of the heavy, nonfunctioning vehicle that is her body, and will soon be free of it.
A woman of actions not words!
To be continued . . .