My father passed away Jan. 23 after a long, brave battle with Parkinson’s disease. He was 86. When he took his last breath, my mother and sister and his hospice aide were by his side.
Those of you who read my column may remember that I frequently wrote about my father and his journey. He was on hospice for six months. While his passing was expected, it was still a time when a myriad of emotions were running through our heads.
My other sister and I and our spouses flew home to New Hampshire the day after his death.
Our sister who lives locally was at my mother’s house when we arrived, as were her husband and their two children, who all work for the same employer.
It was probably one of the few times that three people all took the exact same bereavement leave.