It was a Saturday evening. I was with my mother, when her meal arrived.
We offered her the food; she wasn't hungry, but we managed to get her to eat a bite.
She made an attempt, but faded and didn't swallow. All our efforts failed, so I helped wipe the food from her mouth, so she wouldn't choke.
She eventually awoke long enough for us to get her to take a sip of Ensure. She soon fell asleep again, and I wondered how much longer she would last. She would hardly respond the next few days.
She passed Tuesday morning. I wasn't there, and wondered about her last moments. Did she have a moment of lucidity? Was she frightened? Did she know the end was near?
I'll never know. She was gone in a moment and I only know I wasn't there at the end.
The moments you have with your mother are finite. While the number of moments seems to be large, they may only be few. Take some time and tell her you love her.