Magpie Tales

#24

It was going on towards 2 weeks since we’d told her that she was going to die. Even in her drugged state she was coherent; aware of her surroundings and capable of in-the-present conversations with visitors. Her relatives and all her living friends had come to say their goodbyes. How often does that happen? Thirty years prior, her husband had died without so much as a how-do-you-do!
A couple of days before she actually crossed over, I stopped in in the morning, as I did every morning before work, to see what, if anything, had changed:
“How ya doin’ mom?”
Slowly opening her eyes, she stared straight into mine; “I ain’t dead yet!” She said matter-of-fact, in a tone that said, I’m tired of waiting, let’s get on with it, OK?

I’m reminded of that question that comes up every now and then in social conversation: do you want to know when you're going to die?
Friday, I’m scheduled to die this Friday. D.D. said goodbye today. Everybody else is professing their individual sadnesses and stating their wishes that they don’t want me to go.

I’ll make the bed before I leave!