Then came the end, and the conflicting feelings of relief that it was finally over, and pain that it was finally over.

Slowly, the pace of life outside our little circle began to become more insistent and after time, we were able to join back into the world of the living again.

Gilbert's life and death struggle, like David's, took place over hours, not weeks. First was the shocking news--there's been a tragic accident. From where we were, there was nothing we could do but sit by the telephone and wait for reports.

...it doesn't look good...

...he's going to die...

...we're taking him off life support...

...he's gone...

No time to adjust to the fact that the person you love who was so alive this morning, is now dead.

Shock.

then grief

Then the "grief process."

Then slowly coming out of the fog and back into life yet again.

When you are dealing with the last hours / days / weeks of someone you love, you become an island unto yourself and those closest to you.

People who care about you are on the shore, watching your suffering, wishing there were something that could be done to help, feeling so terribly helpless.

When those people live at a distance, it's even more difficult. Can't even drop off a ham or a potato casserole to help get the family through the difficult days when the last thing you can think of is food.

Can't stop by to give a hug, no matter how useless that may be.

Can't call to offer an encouraging word for fear of disturbing the long wait.

My friend is losing her mother.

A stroke.