A Final Gift
A bereft mother offers one last gift to her dying daughter.

It was Wednesday afternoon – picture changing day at the Foothills Hospital. I was the designated record keeper for this rotation which meant that I waited in the hallway while my partner entered each patient's room. I couldn't help but notice one particular room from which she exited rather swiftly. Shana told me that the patient, a very young woman, was way too ill for our visit. There were many female friends huddled around her bed. It was clear to us that the young woman was dying.

I was still standing close to the door when two of the caregivers emerged. They had been crying.

Tulips (Image by Jerry Friedman)

"Do you have any pictures of flowers?" asked one of the women.

"Yes," I replied. "We have many."

"Tulips? They really must be tulips."

There was such an urgency to her tone. I knew there was a piece with tulips downstairs in storage and offered to go and get it.

When I returned to hang the picture, two of the women propped up the patient so that she could see the image. She reached out, as if to touch the blossoms. There was soft music playing and fresh tulip bouquets throughout the room. Her eyes, though glazed from the morphine drip, smiled so sweetly; tenderly. I felt tears running down my face as I hung the picture and then quietly left.

A few moments later as I stood further down the hallway with my back to the art cart, someone came up from behind and tapped me on the shoulder. It was the girl's mother. She opened her arms and hugged me saying, "You gave us the one thing we could do for her today."