Christine

A thin thread of air exhaled from her mouth. The mouth that once uttered harsh words of distain to us for our inability to be thin like her. She is still quite a force and yet her skin is so thin that it's difficult to believe such a threadbare coat can sustain her body. We know she’ll awake soon and need to pee and have the two of us help her to the bedside commode. Marla and I remained distracted with Facebook posts and emails from friends sending us their well wishes for a peaceful passing. She awakes with an urgency to void. We cannot get her up fast enough. We manage to get her to stand at the side of the bed. I pull her underwear down they slide past her boney hips. She yelps, “Don’t use my hips as a washboard!” “I’m sorry mom, I didn’t mean to pull them down so hard.” “Quick, quick, quick, now, I am peeing, grab the thermos!” Marla seizes the thermos with the faded Marlboro logo on it from the under the hospital bed and holds it between her open legs. A warm pale yellow trickle of urine releases from her bladder. Hardly enough to fill a coffee cup.