Mother sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down her tanned cheeks. The doctor tried, to no avail, to calm her, grasping her shoulders while speaking softly, attempting to explain that her husband, my father had felt no pain when he died of a massive heart attack while dozing in his favorite chair.
"He was gone in a matter of seconds," he said. The doctor's words were useless and my mother continued to wail, rocking back and forth, head now in her hands. I stood nearby, my own tears flowing, not so much for myself, but for her. She had been married to my father for almost thirty years. They had met in college and married shortly after graduation. Now in her fifties, she was facing the prospect of being single and alone.
I had recently turned 21, so I could not begin to understand what she was feeling even though I desperately wanted to.
Shaking his head in frustration, the doctor stood, went to a cabinet in the corner of the room and carefully filled a needle from a vial. He slowly returned to my mother's side saying softly "Mrs Stone, this will help."
She continued to cry, failing to acknowledge his presence as he rolled up her sleeve, giving the shot quickly. I watched as in a matter of minutes my mother's loud cries diminished to a soft moan. Moving to her side I placed my arm around her shoulder. She slumped, her body leaning heavily against mine, burying her tear-soaked face into my chest. "Let's go home," I said as I slowly brought her to a standing position.
To my relief she cooperated as I slowly led her out of the hospital and to the car for the long trip home. As we pulled into the garage my mother was still crying and softly sobbing, staring straight ahead as if looking at something one thousand miles away.
