"I wish you would have waited,
I wish that I could have sailed you away,
With my flotilla of love surrounding you,
On your peaceful journey that day."

The eulogy was short and swift. I trembled within and stuttered on the last syllable. I stole a cursory glance at the listening throng, as I quickly exited the stage and caught a quick nod from the nearest of the audience. As I retook my seat, the first of my tears wove its weary path unhindered to the corner of my mouth. As I removed the intruder with a flick of my tongue, the salinity struck me with irony. This bitter sweet occasion was marked in a doctrine of religious rhetoric that invoked painful memories, yet it was deemed as a celebration. The passing of my Mother was a blessing as much as it was a personal tragedy.

The phone call, six months previous, alerted me to the fact that the disease had struck with vigor. Lymphoma is not something to be regarded as trivial, yet at the time, I made light of the graveness. I had witnessed her overcome terminal disorders before and even with all of my medical experience, I thought that this disease would be cast aside as easily as she had done with the others. At the time I wondered why my Father was initially angry as he relayed the news to me. Was he annoyed at me for working in the medical field? Was my profession less worthy due to an illness in the family? Was he merely after some assurance from me that all would be well?

The months passed slowly, as did the last of my Mother's time here on Earth. As I saw her waste away, I became more aware of the severity of this disease. Intrinsically, I knew that this was one battle that she would not win. I spoke with each of my siblings to warn them of the impending time limit on my Mother's life. Each had their own spin on the chances of her improving and even defeating the illness hands down. Yet, I must have been a great orator in those days, for when I had finished with my rational, they all felt the same sense of impending doom. All were eventually prepared - save for me.

I was located many hours away from my Mother on her last night. The 51st anniversary of my parents wedding was the day that life chose to leave her. She had been writing an anniversary card for my Father when her aortic arch was compressed into occlusion by the diseased lymph nodes. The anniversary of her most treasured moments were her last. I had been scheduled to travel to her side upon the next days dawning. I was to complete the family at her side.

The phone call at 2am ended that dream and created the nightmare that still haunts me when I least expect it. Many times I have wished for another chance at simply being there. I have denied, bargained, became irate, felt the fear and also accepted, but still the cycle reappears when I am at my lowest. Ironic, that I have been witness to many others leaving this world. Tragic, that I could not heed my own advice and be there for the one who gave me life.

Still, there is life and light in the memory that still lingers. There have been lessons learned and some of the sadness has been laid to rest. She calls to me to cultivate my life and to treasure all moments. She whispers that it was not painful and that she sees much more clearly now. She tells no secrets, but she has no fear anymore. She thanks me for telling her that it was alright to rest; that it was alright to not fight anymore; that is was alright to simply go to sleep....and she did.

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