"My dear?" Mathilde calls in a low voice. That became my new nickname when she could no longer move from her bed. Her pain turned too strong for her to bear, and she's been taking morphine, first every twelve hours and now every eight. "Isn't it time, yet?"

"I'm so sorry, Mom..." This is all I can tell her, because we still have to wait almost two hours for the next pill. I take her hand in mine and squeeze. Slowly, she straightens in her bed, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Her face silently contorts as she endures pain beyond my understanding or imagination. It drives me nuts to sit here, unable to do anything except wait for the next pill. I remember the words from her oncologist ten days ago when she allowed those useless pills every eight hours. Any more than that, and we'd be risking heart failure. Sure, that would probably kill her, but would you call this painful waiting life?

"Xylopia Aromatica." She says all of a sudden, a smile struggling to spread across her face. She keeps her eyes closed.

"What is that, Mom?"

"I had those in my bouquet the day I married." Ah, yes. Marriage. She's been stubborn on this since she was bedridden, often asking me how my wedding would be, or stating depressing facts, like saying she won't be around much longer so I could marry Ian and carry on with my life already. There's no way I can make her understand that I would rather have her healthy again than marrying Ian.

"What are they like?" I try to smile at her. Since she has no strength to be her usual rude self, I try to return the favor and play her game as much as I can.

"Oh, they are gorgeous flowers with six long petals that look like stars..." she explains, now opening her eyes and looking at me, her smile genuine and happy, as if her pain was suddenly hacked away. "I don't know how the florist found them or how the bouquet held together the whole wedding. It was beautiful." She motions for her dresser where a picture from her wedding day rests. I go pick it up for her, not without examining the flowers. And yes, they're like stars in her bouquet, white and perfect, and so beautiful. I see a lot of the features she passed on to Meredith, and a slight pang of sadness strikes me. Mom doesn't have much time left, but that woman didn't try to get in touch with us in any way. Sometimes I want to go to her house and bring her here even if I have to kick her all the way, but there's no way I'm leaving Mathilde here except for Jeanne's school.

I shake those thoughts away, wearing my best smile. Or the best I can manage. I take the frame to Mom, which she holds firmly in her hands; traces her finger across her husband's face.

"Your Ian is a great man."

"Yes. Indeed he is."

"Would you have xylopias in your bouquet when you marry him?" Her eyes are hopeful as she looks at me, which warms me up to my very core.

"Of course I will."

She closes her eyes again, keeping that smile. But soon enough she opens them again and looks at me.

"There's one more thing I want to ask of you."

"Of course, Mom. Anything you want."

"In my top drawer, get the red velvet envelope." Her finger lazily points at her bed table, and I quickly open it up, taking the envelope for her. Her movements are slow as she fishes something out of it, which she holds in her closed fist for me to grab. I extend my hand and hold whatever she has in hers. She speaks before letting go. "Some people think is bad luck, and I don't know if you're one of them, but... I want you to have these."

And then she opens her hand, giving me two beautiful gold rings.

"Are these...?"

"My wedding bands, yes." She says, closing her eyes again, and suddenly wincing. She quickly recovers, and she keeps talking. "They are pure, twenty four karat gold. You don't have to if you don't want to, my dear, so don't feel forced to, but I'd be really honored if you used these for your wedding."

"Oh, Mom... Are you sure?"

"Soon they won't be of any use to me, will they?" She says to me, her hand looking for mine. I hold it tightly in my own. "If you don't use them, at least keep them away from Meredith. I'm sure she'll want to dispose of them as soon as I die."

"I'll definitely use them, Mom." I say, bending forward and kissing her hand. "Your rings, and xylopias in my bouquet."

"Good, my dear. I won't be there to see it, but..." She says, holding the frame again and caressing her husband's face. "... if it's not much to ask, I want to be present in this way, at least."

I can't say anything to her. I don't want to cry in front of her. Iwon't do it even if it's taking all of my strength just to contain my tears. Ireally want to tell her that she'll be present in every thought, but the wordscan't make it through the lump in my throat. This conversation sounds and feelslike a farewell. Except I'm still not ready for it.