A Resurrection Story.

During the decade of her life, my mummy often wound up in the hospice. One afternoon she got a new roommate, her 3rd.

The little grey-haired woman, whom I will call Mrs Anderson, was sleeping the far distant sleep of the almost-dead. She had left this planet in her mind, and her body was going to follow.

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Still the Anderson children crooned to their mum, talked to her, held her hand, stroked her hair. She and I spent the subsequent 2 and a half hours in the guts of the infirmary. At 7 they wheeled Mother into her hospital room.