Excerpt from Letter to Two German Doctors I Met in San Francisco

            Right now John Muir Hospital in Walnut Creek is trying to extend the life of my mother medically.  She choked while eating dinner on Saturday night, and even though they were able to unblock the passage and resuscitate her when there was no pulse, she arrived at Emergency without any brain activity, and they began what you undoubtedly understand much better than I do, Hypothermia after cardiac arrest, and this morning mother may "come to life" again.  She had stated in an Advanced Health Care Directive that she didn't want heroic means to be used if it meant living in a vegetative state (though I don't think those were the exact words), so I hope that there is a miracle.  I fantasize that Mother's brain will be fully restored, and Alzheimer's will be gone.  But I know that's not what's going to happen.  Before the choking incident, my best moments during my visits with my mother were when we lay down together on her bed and just sort of cuddled--and sang at the same time.  Not lullabies, but show tunes.  Things from our American Musicals like South Pacific, Oklahoma, and Carousel.  I'd start singing and mother would start singing along.  Her long-term memory was/is good, and I don't even know what tense to use because I don't know whether she's really there.  I just want her to have/have had a good life (which she did until recently) and have/have had a peaceful passing.  She told me a couple of years ago that she thought she would live to be 90, and we were planning her 90th birthday for October 22.  It was going to be a sing-along because Mom can/could still play the piano.  There were things she wanted to say to friends and family on that occasion, so it's fortunate that she didn't leave much unsaid.  I mean, she expressed her love.  But like all of us, she wanted a peaceful death, and choking doesn't qualify.  When I saw her yesterday and the day before, I wanted to lie down beside her again, but there was too little space, too many tubes, and her body was so cold.  She wasn't really there.  I don't know what we're going to see today, in just a few more hours.

            I hope this letter isn't depressing.  I don't mean it to be.  I'm sad about my mother's recent experience, but like your mother, she lived a good life, affected people in a really good way, and whatever happens next, I know it's true that "With a death, a life ends, but a relationship continues."  What's hard to face is a violent death or a lifeless life.