Peter Luckey, Lawrence
To the editor:
While all hell was breaking loose in Washington, D.C., I was visiting my 94-year-old mother in a nursing home in Connecticut. In the coming days, I sat alone in the chair beside Mom’s bed. I listened for her breathing.
“Mom, would you like some orange juice?”
Weakly, she nodded a yes.
With the tip of a straw I lifted the liquid up to her parched lips.
On Sunday my brother drove 700 miles in one day to join me.
On Tuesday Mom reached for one last gasp of air. My brother and I looked at each other and said, “This is it. She’s gone.”