On Easter morning at 4:45, I went and took my place beside her bed. Her breath, no longer labored and forced, Was shallow, but expectant of what lay ahead. On Easter morning at 4:49, My aunt was telling my uncle to bring the girls. We tried to sing "I'm Never Alone," But choked and couldn't remember the words. On Easter morning at 4:55, Her hand, which I was holding, seemed to grow cold. Her breath was very soft and slow. My uncle did not want to hang up the phone. On Easter morning at 5:05, My grandfather wrote in the journal the family had kept: "She left this earth to be with God," And Mom gathered all the pillows with which she had slept.
For Ferne Erickson