Mike held a cool towel to her forehead. As she stopped breathing, he said, “Keep talking to her, Sis.”
I did. She shuddered; small, short spasms shook her body for a very few seconds, after which her eyes closed, and the carotid artery in her neck kept beating. Isn't it strange that death is when the heart stops, not when the will stops? It takes the autonomic system to call it quits.
Then her heart stopped. No more movement, no more lungs struggling for air.
Mike and I, standing at her head, hugged. “She was a good woman,” he whispered.
“No, she wasn't; she was a bitch.”
“She was our bitch, then,” he responded and we laughed and hugged tighter than ever.