Mind games and solutions

My mom has been asleep all day. She hasn't wanted to move, drink much water, nor eat anything. I've given her pain and constipation medicines by straw, by mixing them with chocolate Ensure shake. As I've worked today in her office, I've had the baby monitor on, listening to her breathe and keeping a sharp ear for telltale signs that she's awake. She has not been. This all seems so unreal at times. My mind circles around a core series of questions: Shouldn't I try to get her to eat something? Drink something? Am I coldhearted to just sit here working while she's in there heading toward her end? What can I do?

The answers are: No, I shouldn't get her to eat something if she doesn't want anything to eat. People who are dying naturally refuse nutrition. Now is not the time for fueling the body, but for fueling the spirit for transition. The spirit does not require calories. No, I should not keep pestering her to drink water. People who are dying actually do not process water very well. Dehydration actually produces endorphins which make pain management easier. Pestering her into drinking water will actually cause her discomfort. No, I am not coldhearted for sitting here while she lays dying. I'm leaving her at peace, which she's asked for. She's tired of being pestered all the time--being turned, medicated, cleaned, changed, questioned, bothered. Letting her sleep is a kindness. What I can do is to take deep breaths and accept. What I can do is try and get a nap, so when she does awaken and need me, I can be there for her. What I can do is remember my love and find my center when anxiety, frustration, fatigue and despair come wraithing round me.

A vase of persimmon-colored tulips sits on my mother's bureau in her room. We placed it, pennies in the water to keep the flowers' stems from bending, before her lace-curtained window so the delicate orange cups would catch the afternoon sun. They glow now, in full bloom there on the scarred, dark wood. Tomorrow their petals will begin to fall; we'll gather them to scatter outside in the garden; and soon the memory of their singular color and vim will be all that we carry with us.