Several years after my father's death, Mom had a stroke. Sis had been taking care of her but she could not handle it. After a short time, Mom had to be put in a nursing home. Shortly after that she had a series of "strokes showers" and had to be hospitalized. Then came a call from Sis. "You better come to the hospital. Mom's not very good."

Karen, my second wife, as explained in chapter 27, and I took the four-hundred-mile round trip drive to the hospital in Rochester. When we walked into the room, I couldn't believe my eyes. Mom was writhing back and forth, and she was black and blue all or over her body from having to be tied down. She had her eyes closed and was babbling like a baby. She was being tube fed. After a few minutes, a doctor walked in the room. I asked, "How long has she got?" "Not long," he said. Right then, Father Fred, the family priest, walked in. He was making his usual hospital rounds, visiting and comforting some of the members of his parish. I turned to Father Fred and said, "What should we do?" He said, "It's OK, tell the doctor to remove the feeding tubes and let her go." In the old days of the Catholic Church, that was a no-no. I talked to the doctor and she died shortly after that wrenching decision I had to make. Good bye, Mom, I loved you.

I wish I had expressed that more often when she was alive! This is one of the lessons of life. Wishing I had expressed my feelings doesn't count. What does make a difference is expressing your feelings often and mean it when your loved ones are near and dear to you. I failed in that count.