It is never, ever a good thing when a member of your family calls you at 6:49 AM. On a Wednesday. At least if that call comes in at 6:49 AM on a Sunday, there is always the chance that whomever is dialing is still going strong from a tequila bender and is calling to get directions from Tijuana via burro.
No dice. On this particular Wednesday morning, it was a call from my brother telling me that Mom was on her last legs. A desperate phone call to Brad to borrow his car and a quick shower later, I had a bag packed and was waiting to hustle back to Lisle when I got the dreaded follow-up phone call: at 7:10 AM on Wednesday, July 20th, Sheila Jacklich passed away peacefully in her sleep with my Father by her side.
My Father called it a "great" death. He was terrified there would be pain, choking, knowing eye contact, horrific gasps for air...there was none of that. Her breaths in her last few hours were labored and eventually she just stopped breathing. Gone. Just like that.
I arrived in Lisle about an hour after she died. What seemed like half of the Benet faculty was in my folks living room and my Father greeted me at the door...smiling. Oh, sure, he was sobbing as he hugged me but he was happy that she died in her sleep and so, so relieved that there was no pain to speak of. He led me back to her room and showed me her body. My Mother was grinning. With her eyes open.
I thought it inappropriate to ask Dad if he had double checked to make sure that she was dead and just took his word for it. He sobbed next to me and I put my arm around him. Eventually, he left the room to give me a moment. She was skinny. Horribly so. She didn't look real; like a cadaver from a medical drama. Her arms were crossed at her waist, as if in an coffin and I took her hand. She was already cold.
Outside, he garden burst with color in the morning sun.
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