To the editor:

While all hell was breaking loose in Washington, D.C., I was visiting my 94-year-old mother in a nursing home in Connecticut. In the coming days, I sat alone in the chair beside Mom’s bed. I listened for her breathing.

“Mom, would you like some orange juice?”

Weakly, she nodded a yes.

With the tip of a straw I lifted the liquid up to her parched lips.

On Sunday my brother drove 700 miles in one day to join me.

On Tuesday Mom reached for one last gasp of air. My brother and I looked at each other and said, “This is it. She’s gone.”

Seconds later we called our other brother, put him on speaker phone and the three of us prayed, “We know, Dear Lord, our Mom is now held in Your love. We imagine her now with one of her beloved dogs, wagging its tail.”

Three weeks have passed since Mom’s death. As I look back, my heart is filled with gratitude. I did not miss this moment with my Mom. The pandemic has taught me this: Being present with the ones we love is why we are here.

Peter Luckey,

Lawrence