We were all gathered around Aunt Helen’s bedside, awaiting her final transfer into the great beyond.
I’d flown in at my mother’s request; I hadn’t seen Aunt Helen in years and years, but my mother and her sisters, Aunt Linda and Aunt Karen, wanted the whole family to be present at the passing of their 100 year old mother.
All the men in the family, except for my brother, Matthew, had passed on years ago and this whole situation was reminiscent of saddest day in my life, when we lost my dad.
My aunts were each holding one of Aunt Helen’s hands, willing her to respond, although it had been years since she could, and my mother was applying a wet cloth to her lips, in between her labored breaths.
I looked over at Matthew, into those blue eyes we all had inherited from Aunt Helen, silently asking me why we had to be there and wondering if this wasn’t the most barbaric ritual in life.
I had no response, except to look down and close my own; it was in that moment we all heard her last audible breath.
Each week we gather at the Six Sentence Story blog hop to share a tale, any genre, only six sentences, currently* hosted by Ivy at Uncharted.
*Rumor has it there’ll be a transfer of host/hostess announced next week. Whom will it be?
Source for photo.