December approached, whether Grace wanted it to or not. She spent as much time with her mother as possible, refusing to allow her mind to speculate on what she'd have to face next Christmas.

One afternoon she sat on a bar stool in the kitchen revising one of the many lists she now lived by. Hannah slipped up from behind and embraced Grace in a warm hug. Every muscle in Grace's body tensed. Hannah's simple act of kindness caught her off guard and threatened her single remaining thread of sanity. Emotional distance, her weapon and current coping mechanism, had been challenged. There was no way she could return her daughter's sweet affection without falling completely apart.

Hannah loosened an arm from her mother's shoulder. "I love you," she signed.

Hot tears behind Grace's eyes pushed forward, her throat clenched. Briefly, her arms rose and clung to her daughter. But the urgent need to regain her stoic resistance and block out emotions snapped back into place. She broke free from the embrace with a force shocking both of them.

Grace swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a tight smile. "I love you too," she signed and grabbed her purse and keys.

"Where are you going?"

"Grandma's," Grace paused. "For...something." A lie, but she had to get away. "Back before dinner," she signed. Grace halfway managed her mood swings, but warm tender hugs from her sweet daughter left her entirely too vulnerable, which scared the s.h.i.t out of her.

Through blurred thoughts and raw emotions Grace pulled in front of her mother's condo ten minutes later. She tapped on the door before letting herself in. Kathryn sat in her favorite overstuffed chair, the perpetual oxygen nose-clip in place. A book lay open across her lap.

"Just give me a week," Kathryn had said after her last radiation treatment. "I'll bounce back in no time."

But the old Kathryn never returned. The lines of fatigue on her once smooth face deepened. Pounds dropped off her body at an alarming rate, leaving her weak and frail.

"Hi there." Kathryn managed a weak smile.

Her mother's smile. Like a kick in the stomach Grace realized she had depended on that smile her whole life. Without warning Grace's legs buckled, reducing her to a crumbled heap on the floor. Wrenching sobs erupted from the pit of her stomach and moved upward, the emotional pain choking her.

Kathryn, in her weakened condition, moved from her chair to where Grace slumped on the floor. She somehow found the strength to lead Grace to the sofa. "It's okay Gracie, I'll figure something out."

"You can't fix this!" Grace sobbed, dropping her head to rest in her mother's lap. She closed her eyes and caught a hint of Obsession, her mother's perfume.

"No worries, my love." Kathryn stroked Grace's hair. "I'll never leave you."

Grace desperately wanted to stop the clock. As much faith as she wanted to put in her mother's words even she knew Kathryn couldn't defy death. Growing up sucked. She wasn't anywhere near ready. She had calculated that if her mother lived past Valentine's she'd be on borrowed time. D Day...Death Day.

The following week, Grace sat with her mother in the small examination room when the oncologist delivered yet another blow.

"The radiation is complete and chemotherapy is the next step. Unfortunately, I feel it would be entirely too hard on your body," Dr. Kelly explained. "It compromises the immune system and you're already extremely weak. I don't recommend it." She paused. "All things considered, I think hospice is your next move. I can help with a referral."

Kathryn's face turned a deep shade of red before telling Dr. Kelly she was full of s.h.i.t and then proceeded with, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

Grace helped her mother into the car. "I can't believe you said that to Dr. Kelly."

"And I don't know why you're upset," Kathryn said. "I told you I'd figure something out."

Grace shut the door and shook her head.

A few days later her mother reconsidered her decision on pursuing further treatment. A scene from Gone With The Wind, a cla.s.sic movie they'd watched together a thousand times, popped into her head.

"Quittin' time."

Big Sam says, "Who says it's quittin' time?"

Other slave says, "I says it's quittin' time."

Big Sam retorts, "I's the foreman. I's the one that says when it's quittin' time at Tara! Quittin' time! Quittin' time!"

Yep, quittin' time had to be on her mother's terms. Big surprise. The subject of hospice, however, remained a no-go.

February 14th, Death Day, came and went. Somehow Grace needed to come to terms with her mother's approaching death. The d.a.m.n therapist had been right-she couldn't stop the process.

Fortunately Kathryn resigned herself to selling the condo and moving into the study Grace and Adam had converted to a bedroom. "I'll do it, if I have to," Kathryn said. "But the piano should come with me, don't you think?"

"Sure, Mom," Grace said, mentally rearranging her over-crowded family room and forcing the irritating "don't you think" statement aside. She handled the transition of her mom moving in fairly well, with only occasional escapes to her walk-in closet in the master bedroom. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with a towel pressed to her face she could let her guard down. There the tears flowed.

The kids spent time with their grandmother most days after school. Often Grace heard m.u.f.fled song lyrics filter from the study. Her mother had a thing about music and that thing, bordering on obsession, trickled down the gene pool. With Grace, however, the link to music more closely resembled an attachment disorder. She didn't attach to music...music attached to her. Songs stuck in her head. Never instrumentals...no, that would be too calming. But songs with lyrics played over and over in her head, which Grace referred to as her mental jukebox. Let It Be, today's selection, unsettled her.

She hated when this happened, especially when she found significance in the words. Banging cabinet doors and rattling silverware, she tried to drown out the song.

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, Speaking words of wisdom, Let it be.

There will be an answer, Let it be.

She sifted through the laundry list of mother-daughter disagreements over the years. She never won arguments with her mother. She was a first-cla.s.s wuss. How had that happened? During her teenage years disagreeing with her mother was a constant. But, so what? Who didn't? All Grace wanted was for her mother to stay out of her business and Kathryn made sure to plop herself smack-dab in the middle of everything. Grace recalled her one and only slumber party, when her mother had stayed up all night with her and the few friends she had, pumping everyone for gossip. M-O-R-T-I-F-Y-I-N-G.

Fast-forwarding several years, she landed on a defining ah-ha moment. After Adam's proposal, the mere mention of a pending wedding had sent Kathryn into overdrive, bringing a particular lunch into full focus: Grace studied the menu, ordered iced tea, and debated between Cobb salad and the bacon cheeseburger. Commotion from across the table caused her to lower her menu just below eye level. Pushing silverware and water gla.s.s to one side Kathryn a.s.sembled a small, but neat and efficient, works.p.a.ce. Then, from her oversized satchel purse came fabric swatches, a copy of Modern Bride and a legal pad with a list covering the entire first page. Round two from the magical purse produced a small calculator, two pencils and an eraser.

"Ready to start?" Kathryn leaned across the table, her hands clasped.

Grace grabbed a pa.s.sing waiter. "Excuse me," she said. "Scratch the iced tea. I need a chardonnay. And stay close. I'm going to more." She pointed to her mother. "Don't worry. She tips well."

From then on, life became easier when Grace learned to swing with her mother's suggestions rather than lock horns with the powers that be.

"And now she's dying," Grace muttered. "What will I do?"

The week before Easter, to Grace's surprise, Adam approached Kathryn again with the idea of hospice. Her time awake and out of bed had shortened considerably. To everyone's relief Kathryn relented. The following morning the hospice social worker arrived, introduced herself as Anna, and put the help Grace desperately needed into action.

"When she sleeps she seems so restless." Grace explained to Anna how her mother pulled at the bedding and thrashed her head from side to side.

"Let me spend some time with her," Anna suggested. Thirty minutes later she emerged from the makeshift bedroom. "Your mother hasn't made her Easter baskets for the kids."

"Easter baskets?" Grace's shoulders dropped. "Seriously?"

"That's why she's anxious," Anna said. "I know it sounds trivial, but right now it's really important to her." Anna paused. "I'd do it soon."

"Easter baskets." Grace scratched her head.

"I've got some time. Go now," Anna suggested.

Grace walked into the study and explained her errand to her mother. Kathryn's eyes widened with effort. Her lips formed a weak smile. In a barely audible voice, she ordered Grace to write down what she needed for the baskets.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Grace jerked a cart loose at CVS and meandered through the aisles. The shelves, mostly bare this close to Easter, managed to produce some colored gra.s.s, two halfway decent baskets and an a.s.sortment of candy. At the last minute Grace threw in two pastel-colored stuffed bunnies she found in a bin near the checkout counter.

"It shouldn't be much longer," Anna whispered on her way out the door, giving Grace a warm hug.

Grace could only nod.

Moving a small table next to Kathryn's bed, Grace spread out the Easter goods. On request, she carefully raised her mother to an upright position. There, mother and daughter spent the better part of an hour filling and arranging Easter baskets. With the task complete, Kathryn reached across the small table and covered Grace's hand with hers. "Thank you," she whispered.

Grace fought the urge to yank her hand back. What was her mother thinking? Who cared about Easter baskets at a time like this?

Kathryn drifted in and out of a more peaceful sleep. At times she'd open her eyes and speak, bringing Grace immediately to her side.

"Ruth," Kathryn said, "You're here. But I can't go...." Her voice trailed off into silence.

"No Mom, it's me. Gracie. I'm here, not Aunt Ruth." Her mother's older sister had died three years ago.

Kathryn's conversations continued through the night, always bringing Grace to the bed. There were others besides Ruth her mother talked to...names Grace didn't recognize.

On Good Friday Kathryn, by her earlier request, was transferred to the Hospice Patient Care Facility in the Medical Center. At daybreak Easter morning Grace stepped down the hall for a cup of coffee. When she returned Kathryn had taken her last breath.

Tears streaming down her face, Grace leaned over and wrapped her arms around her mother's still body. "Even now, you're still calling the shots."

Later that evening Grace retrieved the carefully constructed Easter baskets from the closet in the study and gave them to Hannah and Josh. Through tears, the four of them sat and looked through the woven containers a.s.sembled with love.

CHAPTER 5.

KATHRYN AND MAGGIE.

The glowing light drew Kathryn forward, gently pulling her through a billowy-white cloudbank. No fear, no sadness, no trepidation, just comfort and peace filled her along the most pleasant journey she'd ever experienced...that she remembered.

At the very moment the white light flying sensation ended, a hand closed around hers.

"Who's that?" Kathryn asked, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Well, open your eyes, silly."

Kathryn inched open an eye and saw her sister in front of her. "Hey, it really is you!" Kathryn said.

"Of course it's me," Ruth said. "Who were you expecting, the boogie man?"

"That's not funny."

"Yes it was." A mischievous smile was on Ruth's face. "Besides, I told you I'd be waiting."

"Yeah, but I don't believe in that nonsense, remember?" Kathryn looked down, wondering how her clothes had weathered the trip. Surprisingly well, she noted.

"Nonsense, huh?" Ruth squeezed her sister's hand tighter. "You'd better hold on!"

"Why-" was the only word Kathryn spoke before being beamed forward. Together they traveled through a vortex of whirling vibrant colors resembling a psychedelic water slide...not that Kathryn had ever been on a water slide.

Quickly approaching the end of the tunnel Kathryn caught sight of a shallow pool. Before having a chance to complain what the water would do to her hair-not to mention her clothes-she and Ruth slipped into tranquil, glistening sparkles of light.

Immediately on her feet, Kathryn surveyed the damage. Instead of looking like she'd just been pulled out of a washing machine her clothes, a tasteful, but totally unfamiliar outfit, felt completely dry, and from what she could tell her hair was untouched. "Can we do that again?"

"I thought you didn't believe in that nonsense." Ruth stood beside Kathryn, hands on hips.

"I don't." Kathryn said.

"I see." Ruth grabbed Kathryn's hand again and headed across the pool. "C'mon, they're waiting."

A welcoming group at the edge of the glistening sparkles offered warm embraces and greetings to Kathryn. Some she recognized immediately. Others, she knew she knew, but from where? This was getting weird.

After the short reunion, Ruth led Kathryn to a nearby building. A tall structure with bronze tinted windows sent rays of reflected gold light outward. The sign on the door simply read INTAKE.

"I'll be back for you later," Ruth said.

"Wait!" Kathryn screamed, nervous about being left alone. "Can we have a cup of coffee, diet c.o.ke, vodka? Anything? I've got some questions."

"Yeah?" Ruth asked. "Like what?"

"Well, for starters, where's the rest of the family?"

"Our Earth family? They're around." Ruth walked away, leaving Kathryn in front of the Intake Building.

"Where around?"

"Around, I said," Ruth yelled over her shoulder. "You're stalling. Get inside!"

"What am I supposed to do?" Kathryn shouted at Ruth's back.

"Try opening the door, you big sissy."

Being called a sissy by her sister, or anyone else for that matter, did not set well. She flung the door of the building open with more courage than she felt and, desperate to act nonchalant, picked a magazine from a rack on the wall before slipping into one of the seats in the waiting area. The room stood empty and eerily quiet. She glanced at the magazine, The Universe, Bigger Than You Think, and while flipping through several colorful pages, failed to notice a young man with curly brown hair approach her.

"My name is Albert," the man said.

Kathryn jumped. She would have swallowed her gum if she had any.