Photoessay #2859 - Those winter olympics

I don't know why I never thought that the Winter Olympics would come around again.  Just never occurred to me.

But here they are, back again.

My  mother died during the last Winter Olympics.  I did some writing about it; probably one of my better memoir pieces.  I built the story of her death (which wasn't so sad really except that my mother died, you know?) around the Winter Olympics.

My mother loved the Olympics.  She just couldn't wait until they came on; she watched as much as she could.  Her last Olympics was no exception.  When I was with her in the Skilled Nursing unit and the promo would come on, she would cry out in delight "They're coming, I'm right here waiting!"

She loved the opening ceremonies with the athletes marching in with their flag.  She loved the closing ceremonies when the athletes all walked in together, all mixed up, the strong promise of world unity.

My sister traveled up the Friday night; she though she would watch the Opening Ceremonies with her.  When she got there, she found my mother in the hospital.  The next Tuesday, my mother decided to end all of her medications and just had IV morphine.  She died on Sunday.  During that week, my brother, sister and I spent almost all of the time in her room.  The Olympics playing on the TV.  We would tell her about the gold medals and the skaters.  It was a good time; my mother feared more than anything being alone.  She wasn't alone; we were with her. 

Who knew when she watched the Opening Ceremonies that she would not live to see the Closing Ceremonies?

I wrote a dynamite last paragraph to my piece.  Really the last sentence.

            My mother feared being alone at the end, but she wasn't.  Her children stayed peacefully with her.  We felt we had all the time in the world.  Along with the ski jumpers blasting down the mountains, soaring into the air, and the figure skaters spinning and spinning.