I kept telling my Mom that she was so brave during her last several months of life. Her prognosis hadn’t given her much to be brave about and yet she lived her days with grace, kindness and love. She grappled with God at times (“Beth, I had a debate with God last night about free will… but we’re on good terms still”). She grappled with us sometimes. She never retreated. She only persevered onwards.
She continued to do things that mattered to her – like remembering all the names of her nurses, PSWs, doctors, and even the cleaning staff. She wanted to hear stories of her granddaughters and the sweet things they’d done or said (“Tell me a cute story about Jesse and Kate, Beth”). She wanted us to reach out to her friends and keep them updated on how she was doing – she was usually more worried about others than she ever was for herself.
Her bravery was modest, and meek but was strong and loud.