Grandson brought laughter through tears

No more pain. No more fear. No more confusion. No more Mom.
It has been a difficult few weeks. When my mom went into the hospital, we thought it was going to be the same as every other time. They would fix her up, get her stronger and life would go on as usual. I would stay with her for a day or so after she went home and everything would be alright.
Mom, herself, didn’t seem that different from normal. Sure, she had complaints, but nothing we weren’t used to hearing. That is why we were so shocked when a teddy bear of a doctor told us that this time was different. Her condition was very serious. Her heart was extremely weak, which in turn caused five of her organs to shut down. At that point, I couldn’t even name five organs. I still can’t.
Then he said those words that nobody is ever prepared to hear. He told us our mother was going to die. The words hit us like a wrecking ball to the stomach. It was as if someone has sucked all the air out of the room. We sat in stunned silence, too surprised to ask questions. The doctor was explaining something. We heard his voice but the unexpected news rendered us unable to comprehend anything.
We sat in her room watching her face and hands turn grey when she finally drifted off to sleep. We tried to digest the idea that our mom wasn’t going to outlive us and probably wouldn’t last more than a week or so.
Later that day my brothers had left to call people to stop by for one last visit. A nurse who was way too cheerful stopped by to tell me that Mom qualified for cardiac rehab once she was discharged and I need to sign her up for it right now. Hadn’t she talked to the teddy bear doctor before she dropped in? Didn’t she know the prognosis wasn’t good? I bit my tongue and signed the papers.
The next day a procession of friends and family joined us in talking to her and holding her hand. One of my brothers’ close friends even succeeded in making her laugh. It was to be the last time I would ever hear my mom laugh.
The doctor said he was wrong. Mom’s test results showed that she was improving. Hope sneaked into the room. She improved the next day, also. Her kidneys and other organs began working once more. It seemed that all the medicine they were giving her was working.
The following day, a doctor with a friendly smile pulled me into the hallway to once again say she was going to die.
After a series of ups and downs, it became apparent that she was never going home again. We made funeral arrangements. We had her transferred to the hospice wing at the hospital. She passed away in the middle of the night.
Even though we had been expecting it, the news was still a shock. We had hoped for one more day, or at least a few more hours.
My daughter came up for the funeral, as did many other family members and friends. Everyone expressed their condolences and shared fond memories of our mother. Just before it was time to go to the cemetery, my four-year-old grandson came up to stand beside me at the casket. He asked if I was sad. When I replied, “Yes,” he asked why. I told him it was because I was never going to see my mommy again. He hesitated, looked up at me with such sweet innocence, and said, “You can always re-dig her.”
I laughed through my tears. It was the perfect reminder that life always goes on.