As we sit in this dimly lit hospital room, we listen. We hear the beeps of Mom's heartbeat on the monitor, the hum of her compression stockings, and the ventilator whisps. It is eerie, yet comforting. We must listen intently. We must hold our breaths with ears placed to the sky, because beneath these mechanical chants...Mom speaks to us.

Before Dad's death, we had a candid discussion about our parents wishes and end-of-life care. It was as if they had no fear of death, but the process of death. In health care today, we evade death to extremes, often with means that are painful and without dignity. We must examine if it is the quality of life we are prolonging, or merely delaying death. Mom's neurological exam has minimally changed since surgery. With no improvement in time, her chance of a meaningful recovery is grim. All medical resources have been exhausted. God has other plans, and despite our painful longing to keep her with us, we must trust in these plans.

So what is it Mom is telling us? We believe she is expressing her wishes to transition to the hereafter with grace and free of pain. We are not only her children, but her advocates. We have reached a profoundly difficult decision to withdraw care later today and let her reunite with Dad. We had a long talk with her last night, and told her how scared we are to live in this material world without her. Though there was no physical response, we felt her warm embrace. The pain we feel is unbearable, but we must find comfort in each other, memories, and the love we share.

Mom, we hear you. Be at peace. We love you so.