But the night that she died, she just - late in the afternoon, she just
opened her eyes. I can see her laying there in bed now. She was in a hospital bed, and she just
opened her eyes. She looked at me. I was doing something for her, and she stared at me, right
fixed, she didn't move her eyes or anything, just stared at me. And I said, "Mother, what do you
want? You want something, don't you?" You could tell by her eyes. And I said, "You want
Dad?" And I gathered that that's what she wanted, so I said, "Well, you just hold on, he'll be
here because it's almost 5:00," and he'd get there shortly after 5:00. So she did. I stayed with
her, and he got home, and he went up and sat with her. And she tried, all that time, from 5:30 on
'til about 8:30 or 9:00 before she died. Her eyes were opened when he got home, and then she
just sort of slipped into unconsciousness. But she had a hold of his hand, and she hung onto his
hand until she died. In fact, I can remember the whole scenario. You know, it really wasn't very
easy. But it always made me feel good because, I mean, that was a cleansing, a forgiveness,
everything. Because she had felt so guilty about my brother. And he, I mean, he held a little bit
of grudge because - he held it against her, I think. He tried not to, but I think he did a little bit.
And she, of course, blamed herself. But I think it was a very good thing in the way she did it. It
wasn't easy, but it was still good, if you know what I mean.