Mama pulled my hand up to her face on Thursday afternoon and said it plain.

“Carol, no more.”

Her voice was thin but steady. I had just helped her sip some water and the nurse had stepped out.

The DNR form was already on the tray next to her water pitcher. She had asked the doctor for it that morning.

I am a retired ICU nurse so I know exactly what another surgery would do. At eighty nine it is not about fixing anything anymore. It is about how much the body can take before it just gives out slow and miserable. I had seen it too many times.

But then there is Katherine.

She is flying in Monday morning. She already called twice this week telling me to make sure the doctors do not give up. She keeps saying Mama is a fighter and we cannot be the ones to stop fighting for her.

Mama’s hand shook when she let go of mine. She looked at the form and then back at me.

“Sign the paper before she gets here,” she said.

That was all. Then she closed her eyes like the talking had worn her out.

I sat there with my palm over the corner of the form for a long time. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the oxygen. I kept thinking about the last two surgeries. The first one took six weeks of recovery and she never really got her strength back. The second one left her confused for days and she kept asking where Dad was even though he has been gone seven years.

I told myself I was just going to think about it overnight.

Friday morning the doctor came in early. He asked if we had made any decisions.

I told him I needed the weekend. He nodded like he had heard that before and left the form right where it was.

That afternoon I stepped out to the hallway to call Katherine. She picked up on the first ring.

“How is she today?” Katherine asked.

“About the same,” I said. “Tired.”

“Did you talk to the surgeon again? They said they could schedule for next week if we move fast.”

I did not answer right away. I could hear her kids in the background at her house.

“Carol?” she said. “You still there?”

“Yeah. I am here.”

“Well we need to push them. Mama would do the same for us.”

I hung up feeling like the phone weighed ten pounds. Back in the room Mama was awake again. She did not ask about the call. She just looked at the tray.

“You still got time,” she said.