Watch for the light, she says, watch for the light. The soul sometimes trails light as it leaves the body. She’s a nurse. She says she has seen the soul leave a body. I want to watch. I really do. My father orders all of my brothers and sisters out of the room as Mom is dying. He tells them to get out. He’ll watch her die alone. Outside the rest home my sister says, He chased us away. My ego stands up tall. He’s not chasing me away. I open the door to my mother’s sickroom. I’m staying, I challenge. My father nods a slow assent. Large teardrops river his cheeks. My mother’s cheeks are caved in to a wide open mouth, her eyes closed. Her breath gargles as the water of her life floods her lungs. We watch her drown. No life preserver. No long rope to pull her ashore. The water becomes deeper and deeper. I want to watch. I want to see her soul leave her body. But abruptly I turn away. Turn away and leave the room. Turn away from what I can no longer watch. My brave father stays to the end. He walks out of the rest home. Pushes through us where we have gathered in the parking lot. He says simply, She’s gone, then drives away in his truck. My brave father stays to the end, but he’s not brave enough to drop us a few crumbs to feed our sadness. A few words of grief, consolation, encouragement, or even direction. He drives away. Leaves grief snaking in the pits of our stomachs. Leaves us with grief at the rest home. It’s years since my mother’s death. Most recently my father has died. I wasn’t there when he died. I raced to the rest home, but he was gone when I got there. I wanted to see the light leave his body. I really did. I wanted to show him I could stay. But that was only my ego. My ego wanting to stand by his bedside. My ego wanting to stand tall and brave to the end.