Mother's Day, 2006.

I took this photo of my mother on the front step of her home. We had just returned from having lunch at Marie Callender's restaurant, after attending the service at her church. I had flown out from New Hampshire to spend Mother's Day with her. We both knew it was likely her last.

All winter, she lacked energy and, during March, developed chest congestion. In early April, she saw her allergist, who ordered a chest X-ray. It revealed tumors in one of her lungs. Although she had stopped smoking decades earlier, that apparently had not protected her.

Confronted with her mortality, my mother's equanimity was inspiring, a reflection of her faith. I see it in her expression. At 86, she was content that she had lived a long and fulfilling life and saw no need to try and prolong it through treatments that would likely reduce the quality of her last months.

While I was home, we met with a local hospice. Mother spoke of her desire to spend her last days in her own home with her dog Shelly. The woman from hospice said they would help her fulfill her wishes.

And so began a sacred, three-and-a-half month, end of life journey. As she wished, she died peacefully in her home with her dog Shelly, her neighbor and me sitting at the foot of her bed.