One

Slightly built, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and flip-flops, she stands in the waiting room. She looks thoughtfully out the window, unfolds her arms, and reaches for the Coke in the McDonald's cup. A couple of sips. Hands in her pockets. "We weren't expecting this," she says.

"Tell me about your mother," I say.

She smiles gently. "She is the most wonderful woman. The most welcoming woman. Her vegetable garden is unlike anything you've ever seen."

She glances at the door to the ICU.

"I'm going back in there to be with her."

This morning she was holding out hope. In another hour, she will make the most difficult decision ever asked of her, and then she will say good-bye. In between, I will sit with her family, and I will begin a prayer with the words, "Oh, Holy God, none of us wants to be at this meeting."





My friend Lisa has challenged herself to write something every day. I decided to go for my own version: five minutes of descriptive writing every day for a month. This is Number 1, with the people involved appropriately disguised.