away 2 years ago, after a long illness. It was up and down for her, but the bad times got badder and the good times didn't last as long. She had MRSA and a couple of other things. The night before she died, she said that she wanted her stop the feeding tube, which was the only way she could get nutrition. We all knew, my siblings and I, what that meant: it meant that she would die very soon. It pained us terribly, including mom, but we understood that she knew it was time. She'd fought a good fight for a long time, and she was so very very tired. Shortly before she passed away the next day, my sister-in-law picked her up from the nursing home and brought her home, where she wanted to be.

My family was fortunate in a way, because mom worked in a hospital, and she would tell us stories of patients who were ready to go, but who kept hanging on, even in pain and exhaustion, because their families didn't want to let them go. She understood it, and so did we, but what she saw was the continued agony of the patients she cared for, as they kept hanging on and hanging on for their families who didn't want to let go. She once told us a story of two brothers who literally got into a fist fight over their mother's bed, because one son wanted to respect the mother's wish to be let go, and the other one didn't want that at all. I understand both sides, but for my mom, it was so important to her that my siblings and I understood that sometimes people just know when it's time to go, or they are just too exhausted to continue on. I saw her and her brother tell my grandfather that it was okay for him to go, if he felt that's what he wanted to do. They also said they would continue to make sure he had the care he needed for as long as he needed if he wanted to stay among the living. He chose to go.

The day mom passed away, we were all at her house, and I started reading the log book we kept of her last year. When she didn't have to be in a nursing home, she could be at home but she couldn't be alone in case she fell or there was a problem with her feeding tube. My siblings all live near her home, so they rotated staying with her; I would take a week off from work at a time and go to Oregon to stay with her and to give my siblings a break. We kept the log so that the next person coming in to stay with mom would know how her last 24 hours had been. I was reading it, and I suddenly had a vision of my tiny little mother being buffeted by very strong winds. She withstood those winds for a long time, and even fought back against them, but I could understand completely why she felt she had finally had enough. When she died, I felt tremendous sadness, but I also felt good in a way that this brave, wonderful, loving woman didn't have to fight anymore. She could finally rest.

My heart goes out to Keith Olbermann and his father, and to all the sons and fathers and daughters and mothers -- to everyone in the world right now who is dealing with illness in themselves or in a loved one. Dying is not an easy thing to talk about for most of us, and it's certainly not an easy decision to make or to accept, if a loved one who is ill decides that enough is enough. It is not easy, but I know from my own personal experience that if a loved one decides they are done fighting, to let them go is also one of the most loving things one can do.

And as Keith said so well, "it's a life panel. And damn those would call it otherwise to hell."