watching mother die

Sometime in the late seventies, my mother sat at the deathbed of her mother in a little cement block and screen porch home...
5001 Jasmine Avenue, Savannah, GA. Unpaved track on the eastern edge of town, hint of a civil war defensive line ran through the back of the property.
  

During the old ladies last hour, she suddenly came wide awake, looked mom in the face and said, I never forgave you for moving the family out west.  Last words, cut mother to the quick. She carried a shadow on her heart from then to now.  Some of the bile even jumped down a generation to Annah and me. Sad story.

A religious woman, mother has expressed mild dementia concerns about the fate of her mother in the afterlife.  Certain that someone that mean could not get into heaven, worried about renewing the ugly rivalry if her mother did manage to reach that Golden Shore.

Only thing I knew about heaven is that one can eat all the chocolate you want without gaining weight. Somewhat happier thought.

Now it is my mother's turn to die. Sitting at her bedside my mind can't help but cast back to that scene in Savannah forty odd years ago.  Lifetime of sins rolling down the screen of my mind like movie credits.

Will she repeat her mother's last hour? Sit up with clear eyes, voice suddenly strong, point a crooked finger in my direction calling me down for my iniquities, then fall back to the pillow and eternity?    Guilty conscience causes the mind to wander.