The Tokarski Home

She clicked confirm on the website. One dinner would be delivered to the Tokarski House, a house of death. She knew her dad wouldn't leave her mom’s side, not this late in the game.

Her mom was heavily sedated to ward off the pain. The cancer had already ravaged her body, the battle was lost. She remembered the good day they had on their last visit. It was the last good day. They had gone shopping. Her mom in the motorized cart with her granddaughter on her lap. That was a good day.

That night had been filled with pain. The following, her mom was enrolled in hospice. It was their last day visiting, so she had set everything in order and said goodbye. The pain was there, but not the intense, stabbing pain of true loss.

"Dad, dinner will be there soon. How's mom?"

"She's hiccuping in her sleep. The nurse say's it'll be anytime now."

The call came days later. “She died this morning, I’m so sorry.”

Later, she would cry. Later, the pain would steal her breath away. Today, she had arrangements to make and a family to care for. She would be strong, like her mother.