Six days before she passed, her eyes were glazy as she weakly looked at me with half-lidded eyes.

I spoke to her soothingly, telling her I was her daughter Melanie, and carefully swabbed her mouth…something she was allowing me to do…she had refused others this act.

And then she took 12 strong sucks of the cool swab, clamping her gums together on it…over and over as I offered it…swallowing water she desperately needed.

I watched in amazement as the beautiful green color come back into her irises—such a remarkable event to watch.

I was startled…and transfixed.

When she made the effort to really look into my eyes…I swear she knew who I was, despite her Alzheimer’s.

Yes, I realized she had put out this extra effort to give me this amazing time with her…and I felt so blessed. My heart swelled, and I knew this would be a lifetime memory…a cherished moment.

With a lot of effort she said, “Hi.”

When I asked if she was in pain, she shook her head and said, “No.”

Earlier I had put on some background music…a transient relaxation tape…and now, while she looked at me, I lovingly massaged Mom’s legs, feet, toes, her head and neck, her hands and fingers…while I talked softly, telling her beautiful memories from my childhood…talking to her about how I loved the times she and her sisters sang in harmony whenever they got together at our house, how I loved Mom’s cooking and baking, fond memories I had of picking cherries with her at Mr. Blackman’s orchard when I was a teenager…and my most favorite memory of all…the time we painted ceramic Christmas ornaments together and chatted about life.

With each memory I went into great visual detail, trying to stimulate every sense…emphasizing colors, tastes, emotions…and singing songs I remembered.

She looked very peaceful and relaxed when I left.

…an angel.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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