March 1, 2006

There she was, in the same position as when I left her. I don’t know why I checked on her in the morning, maybe I knew something was wrong. It seemed that she was sleeping fitfully. But it was now the afternoon, and she hadn’t moved. Arms akimbo, her left foot dangling off the edge of the bed.

I allowed myself a brief moment of hope and reached down to tap her on the shoulder. Ice-cold and stiff. Silent screams became audible. I ran out of the room, jumped up and down, hit the wall, trying to bring reality back. I check on her again. Arms stiff.

The voice on the phone asked, “911, what’s your emergency?”

“My mother is dead.”

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