An article on the BBC made me think of my father who died from cancer of the lungs.
The doctors at the hospital decided that, towards the end, he would be more comfortable at home.
Later my mother told me that when he died she, and one of my sisters, got him ready for his final journey.
What to some may sound like a quaint, even barbaric rite, now sounds to me like the final show of love to one you have shared a lifetime with.
Chuck died in a hospital, and I saw him being wheeled out on a gurney.
But I still had the time with him as he drew his last breath.
Is there ever a right way to say goodbye, I wonder.
My mother did it her way, and I did it the best way I could.
I guess we all do the best we can.
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