One breath.  Two breaths.  Three breaths.  Four breaths.  My mom’s breathing was slowing to about one breath every 15 seconds.  Five breaths, and …another breath never followed.  She was gone.  My brother called the time of death – 2:06am.  My mom’s hands, that had been cold for days, were suddenly filled with warmth.  It was as if her spirit just left her body and exited out her fingertips.  Floating like a feather being licked by the wind around the room, enveloping those who loved her so much.  Her spirit. My mom’s spirit.  God, my mom was so spirited.  I can’t believe that her soul – her essence – would be doing anything less than dancing around the room, comforting us, wrapping us up in its beauty, giving us one final hug before retreating to the skies.  Soaring into Heaven.  Lead by the gentleman who had appeared at the foot of her bed a few days earlier.  To be there with my mother at this sacred time of her life, was the greatest gift I have ever received. We – her family – were her ushers.  Taking her hand and escorting her from this world to the next.  Her children.  Her husband.  Handing her off to her angel guides as her final breath left her body.  It was truly a religious experience.  I couldn’t help but wonder if my first breath was as soul-stirring to my mother as her last breath was to me?

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