The afternoon Liz came to be with GrandMary, I went in to thank her for the cake, but she was praying hard, eyes closed, lips trembling, her hands clasping GrandMary's. I backed out immediately, knowing I'd just intruded on something intimate and stunningly beautiful. These women had known each other at least 40 years, and one was helping the other to die.

One night, my cousin Mary Margaret visited GrandMary. She held her and said, "My parents never came to any of my basketball games, but you never missed any. I learned so much from you." Mary Margaret told me how GrandMary was always coaching her on her game in the car on the way home, telling her to be more aggressive when stealing the ball.

The next day, as I fed GrandMary ice chips, she said, "Mary Margaret told me such beautiful things. You never know what you mean to people when all you're doing is just going along and living. Before you came, Monsignor was here. He remembered my spaghetti suppers at St. Ann's when I was president of the Mothers' Club all those years. I didn't think anybody remembered them." Then she said, "He told me was going to put a picture of me sitting on the camel in Egypt on top of my coffin. I said, 'You wouldn't.' He said, 'Try and stop me.'" She glowed, describing how he gave her the Last Rites...how good she felt...How he had called her "The Queen Mary."

Another night, my aunt tried to get her to brush her teeth, but GrandMary refused. Sally said, "Mom, what would Dad say if you didn't brush your teeth?" referring to my grandfather, a dentist, who died in 1975. GrandMary looked at her daughter and said,

"He doesn't give a shit."

By Act II of the soap, Rachel had tried to seduce Scott and GrandMary tried to get out of bed. She had no strength left, so it took four of us to lift her out of the bed and into her wheelchair. Each movement caused agony, but she rarely cried out. Still, the wince of pain flashing across her face told us everything. We helped into her wheelchair, but her back was so buckled by osteoporosis that she could only look at the floor. We put her in a chair in the living room, and she said, "I don't how know how to tell you this, but I want to go back to bed."

By Act III, GrandMary was slipping in and out of consciousness. I didn't know who would finish first, me or her. I wanted it to be done, so I could sit with her. I wrote more furiously just to finish. I was also anxious for her to die, because I couldn't bear to see her suffer. I took Norah for long walks on the farm, imploring my uncle, my grandmother's son who died 20 years ago, to come and get her, that she was ready.

The day before she died, an argument erupted over the use of an IV. GrandMary couldn't eat anymore and she didn't have the strength to suck through a straw. Uncle Lefty appeared on the scene and said, "Even the good Lord was offered a drink of water on Mount Calvary. We can give Mama an IV."

My mother, calling long distance, said, "The Good Lord was offered vinegar if I recall correctly."

My dad said, "Let her go, Lefty. If an IV is going to prolong her suffering, let her go." My aunt and the hospice people agreed.

Uncle Lefty came over that afternoon and said, "Mom? Mom? Do you want some Guinness? Blink if you want Guinness." GrandMary blinked, and he sponged some Guinness onto her tongue. He was satisfied and let the matter of the IV drop. Then he held her and kissed her over and over, whispering, "You're the best mom. I love you so much. You're the best mom in the whole world."

My youngest cousin, Aunt Sally's daughter and a senior in high school, was heartbroken about losing GrandMary. One night, she stood over her bed sobbing, saying, "GrandMary please! Call me 'sugarpig' one more time! You've never been at a loss for words! Please, call me 'sugarpig' one more time!"

I finished the soap. Scott had not succumbed to Rachel's charms. Eve was still being blackmailed by Bordiso over a set of letters that held the key to thwarting mind control. I went outside into the brilliantly sunny afternoon and sat with Norah under the apple trees. My sister, who'd just taken the bus in from New York, joined me. We said nothing, just let autumn sun soak into our skin. I thought of how much GrandMary loved the ocean and the sun. She would walk for miles along the beach in Bethany and Rehobeth.

There were things I was never going to be able to ask her now. I'd always wanted to know how she was able to bear it when she lost her youngest son, the uncle who was only five years older than me. How did she stand being married to a domineering Irishman? She loved him, but I think of the stories and wonder how she managed with never a cruel word to anyone.

My grandfather used to come home on Christmas Eve with a tree and go to bed, leaving GrandMary to trim the tree, wrap the presents, and handle the holiday. Once he shot 120 quail which she had to pluck, stuff, and cook for a party. One hundred and twenty quail. Is that an urban family myth? Everyone swears it's true, and I've seen pictures of her holding up endless strings of quail. He would call to her from the bedroom, "Mary, I need another beer!" He reminded me of Jackie Gleason.

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