My friend just told me the most beautiful story of his 93-year-old mother’s death this week. He was able to keep vigil at her bedside, with the help of his brother and nephew. His wife and young daughter, priest, hospice and nursing home staff were frequent visitors. Even though she couldn’t talk, he felt that she knew they were there. There was storytelling, laughter, reflection, prayer, music. The priest administered the sacrament to the dying at his request and it gave him peace. His mother died at sunrise on the sixth day of vigil to the accompaniment of a sacred and most meaningful piece of music.

How did he know to do this? What gave him strength to take a week off work and lovingly be so present during such a difficult time? ”My mother did that for my father,” he said. ”I just knew it was what I had to do.” What a blessing. Thank you, mom. Rest in peace, Betty.