The Red Flannel Rag

sister that she was really dying this time. We called my brothers and as many of her

grandchildren as we could find.

All my brothers came home and each had a few minutes alone with Mom. As each

one approached her bed and held her hand, she opened her eyes and acknowledged that

she knew him. She did the same with the grandchildren as they each arrived.

With each new visitor to her bedside, she asked for Hilda who had been her daily

companion for nearly forty years. Hilda had gone away that morning to take her own

father to the hospital for a blood transfusion —a regular routine for him now. Warnie’s

w ife, Dianne, arrived and began to monitor Mom’s heart rate and blood pressure. Both

were slowly dropping.

After Mom had said goodbye to everyone except Hilda, she slipped into a mild

coma. She was very calm and appeared to be resting. An hour later, Hilda returned.

She walked behind Mom’s bed and took her hand. Mom awakened from her coma and

acknowledged Hilda’s presence. Then she immediately began the final stages of the

dying process — her breathing changed, and her skin became cold. She slipped back into

a deeper coma.

For a period of time, while she was in the coma, Mom was talking as if she were

carrying on a conversation with someone. We couldn’t understand what she was saying

or to whom she was talking. I wondered if she were talking to God. Mom had never

returned to church after I refused to be confirmed at age twelve. She remained half mad

at the Mennonites for the rest of her life.

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