In March of 2003, I lost my 40 year old brother to complications from diabetes. My parents were devastated by his loss even as their faith carried them through. I think the stress may have escalated my mother's ill-health though. She knew something was wrong, but was a few months too young to get Medicare. She decided to wait, and that was a mistake.

When she made it to the doctor, they found a uterus full of leiamyasarcoma, a deadly form of cancer. Her uterus was removed and she received chemotherapy. Things looked good for a short while, and then we got the news that it had metastasized to her lungs.

She began chemo again, but it was so bad that she decided she couldn't do it. Her last time, I stayed at the hospital with her for several days to help her through it. With chemo no longer an option, she was told she had about 6 months to live. We were devastated, but my mother was a godly, Christian woman who was ready to go.

We didn't sit around waiting for her death to come; we celebrated the life she had left. I lived about 4 hours away, so I stayed most of the time with my parents that last year. My husband and 18 year old daughter managed to make it on their own with occasional visits from mom.

At first Mom had broken her hip and wasn't allowed to be alone, so we spent a lot of time together. Much of that time was spent trying to keep her down so her hip could heal. We called in hospice and signed all the papers for a DNR and Power of Attorney and all those other little details one has to take care of at a time like this.

Hospice was awesome! Our nurse, Cindy, was kind, compassionate and fun. She and the other care workers were right there whenever we needed them. Mom was on morphine, but other than that and a few other meds, she was on her feet and going almost the entire time. She wasn't going to let a little thing like cancer slow her down. We, my parents and I, spent a lot of time together. Mom and I would go to Wal-Mart shopping every other day. We would walk down the isle speaking gibberish to one another as if we were speaking another language, just to see people stare at us. We laughed; we played; we shared; we cried; but we did not mourn, not yet.

I worked on several projects while I was there. First I scanned all my Dad's letters to Mom from before they met. He was in the army and his mother begged Mom to write him. She, a good Christian girl, did not write or date unsaved boys, but Grandma was

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