Josephine rested upon the plush red sofa, her small green oxygen tank by her side. This emphysema never seemed to abate, but she'd grown used to the breathing tube over the years. It was all right. Her eyesight was also failing, but at 89 she'd accepted it as just another challenge. She knew she was blessed.

Aunt Jo had her wonderful niece, and her equally wonderful grand-niece with attached hippie boyfriend to keep her comfortable with everything she needed. Propped up on her bed pillow in her niece's cozy living room, she breathed slowly and deliberately beneath her blanket, listening to a discussion of the Middle East on NPR. Generally, Aunt Jo felt okay, but on this particular Tuesday she had a cold she just couldn't shake. She raised a spotty, blue-veined hand to her nose and dabbed around the tubing with a tightly wadded tissue that was long overdue for the trash.

A black Volvo pulled into the driveway and Aunt Jo sat up slowly, looking out the window. She knew who it was. A small black and white dog began to whine from the next room and came dashing out. He sat at the front door yapping. A woman, 50-ish with long hair and an Indian skirt, opened the door, fumbling with two bags of groceries. She was back in a flash, just as she had said. The dog continued to jig and bark.

"For godsake, shut up, Chewie," said the woman, then brightly: "Hi, Aunt Jo. How's my Lamb?"

"All right," murmured Aunt Josephine, settling back into her pillow. The woman with the long hair leaned over and gave her aunt a kiss. "Whatcha up to?"

"Nothing, Janey," said Aunt Jo.

"Feeling better?"

"Not really."

"Well, I'll fix you some vegetable soup and some tofu, how's that sound? And I'll get you another tissue."

"Thank you, dear," said Aunt Jo.

"My Lambie."

Janey headed for the kitchen with the paper sacks, the dog at her heels, barking and panting.

"Shut up, Chewie," said Janey. She set the bags down and gave the dog a biscuit, scratching him behind the ears.

"My Chewie."

When Uncle John had passed on seven years ago, Janey had taken in Aunt Jo. She had the space and she loved Aunt Jo so dearly. Janey had set up Aunt Jo in the spare room, placing old photos of Josephine and John lovingly on the bureau in their polished frames. She piled warm cotton blankets upon the bed and placed Jo's medications on the nearby night stand. Lace curtains adorned the windows that overlooked the zinnias and gerber daisies in the flower garden. On the walls she hung the dull-colored landscapes and paintings of cats that Aunt Jo loved. Janey rearranged Jo's hairbrush and comb and perfumes on the bureau just so, and kept fresh flowers there in a vase. She filled the bureau drawers with Aunt Jo's little white socks and underpants, and her warm stretch pants and little white undershirts and button up sweaters. Behind the door, Janey had put the largest of the green oxygen tanks. She filled the room with rubber tree plants, and philodendrons and spider plants. She put a comfortable brown sitting chair in one corner. Next to the twin bed, she placed two sets of slippers, one with little pink flowers and one with bold colored stripes. Aunt Jo was so small and sweet. Just like a lamb. She'd be happy and comfortable here. And so close to the bathroom.

Janey wanted to help. She wouldn't have had it any other way. She had spent much of her youth and adolescence as an only child living with Aunt Josephine and Uncle John. She had been orphaned at the age of ten by a drunk driver. Their home on the farm was so warm and inviting, and there Janey learned to milk the cow and tend the chickens and goats. There she learned many virtues, one of which was compassion for animals. Aunt Jo taught Janey that animals weren't put on this earth for us to kill, but if one died a natural death, it was acceptable to thankfully use it as food and not waste it. Of course, one must thank the animal and The Creator first. Any other occasion to eat animals was unacceptable. Killing was unacceptable. Humans should only eat vegetables-- Aunt Jo lovingly explained-- and animals were not vegetables. Occasionally it was okay to have humanely produced dairy products or eggs. But at Aunt and Uncle's house, no alcohol was ever consumed out of respect for Janey's parents.

After listening to fifteen more minutes of NPR, Aunt Josephine opened her eyes to Janey's smiling face above her. Chewie was at her side, as was a large orange cat. Janey set up the TV tray next to the sofa.

"Here you go, Lamb. Nice food." She helped Aunt Jo into a comfortable sitting position, rearranging the pillows at her lower back. Janey sat cross-legged on the sofa next to her, placing a plate in her lap. She bit into a tomato and sprouts sandwich on organic 12-grain bread. The cat and dog looked at her intently and fixedly. "What's the talk about on the radio?"

"Oh," said Aunt Jo slowly, "Trouble in Israel or one of those places."

"Oh," said Janey.

By the weekend, Aunt Josephine was faring poorly. Her breathing was belabored. She seemed more than a bit disoriented, claiming to have seen a man in her room, and where was her lipstick, so she could go out dancing?

"Jesus, Mom. Aunt Jo is in orbit," whispered Pru, leaning her back against the yellow kitchen wall, arms folded. "And she doesn't eat." Wavy auburn hair spilled over Pru's shoulders. Janey, washing the breakfast dishes, looked up into her daughter's distraught face.

"I know."

"Do you think..." she paused, lowering her voice even more and moving to the sink. Her back was against the counter now. "Do you think it's really bad? She looks really bad. I'm afraid she's going to... you know. Not make it."

"I know."v "Isn't there something we can do? We should do something."

Janey sighed and looked out the window at falling autumn leaves. "She doesn't want any doctors, you know. She always wanted to go when her time came. You know she doesn't believe in any of that stuff. You know the way she wants it. DNR. That's what the papers say."

Pru peered around the threshold into the living room. There was Aunt Jo on the sofa, eyes closed, mumbling to herself with one hand slightly raised drawing pictures in the air. Her head was off the pillow. The orange cat lay curled at her feet on the blanket. Pru walked in and put the back of her hand to Jo's cool forehead. Aunt Jo opened her eyes and kept muttering. Her eyes looked dark. Pru gently coaxed Jo's head back onto the pillow.

"Need anything, Aunt Jo?"

No response, only murmuring. Pru leaned in closer.

"It's me, Pru. Prudence, Aunt Jo."

Jo closed her eyes and continued to babble. The grand-niece went back to the kitchen where Janey was wiping down the counter.

"She's acting so weird, Mom. I'm scared."

"I know," said Janey.

The back door opened. It was the boyfriend. He looked like a gaunt, blonde Jesus.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Pru.

"How's Jo?"

"See for yourself."

The boyfriend peered around the door frame. "Hey, Aunt Jo. How you feelin', Lamb?"

No response.

"She still out of it," said Pru.

"She'll be okay, honey," said the boyfriend, putting his arm around her. "Or maybe not. It's all good. I mean, she's happy. She's had a full life and she's always been surrounded by love. She's luckier than most people."

"Will you stop with that?" said Pru, irritated. "That's my Aunt Jo. I don't want her to go yet."

"She's my Aunt Jo, too," replied the boyfriend. "Really, she is."

"Everybody relax," said Janey." I'm fixing veggie burgers in a minute. Pru, please help me with the salad." Janey turned to the boyfriend. "Hey, would you mind going down into the basement and checking the freezer?"

"Sure," he said. "Come on, Chewie." The dog followed.

At dinner, the family sat on the red cotton sofas around Aunt Jo, chatting and trying to be cheerful. While Jo slept, they listened to NPR. Afterwards, the boyfriend got up to take the plates. It was twilight. Janey decided to put Aunt Josephine to bed.

"Come on, Lamb," said Janey as she tried to lift her aunt's shrink-wrapped skeleton off the pillows. Aunt Josephine was weak, limp. She started muttering. Janey managed to get her arms around Aunt Jo from behind and she raised her from the couch. Pru helped untangle the breathing tube. Positioning herself behind the old woman, Janey walked her across the room. Jo's legs buckled beneath her. Her shoulders slouched. Janey kept on.

"Let's go, Lamb," she said.

"Got her, Mom?"

"Yeah, honey."

Once in her room, Aunt Jo was tucked beneath the covers and given a kiss on the forehead. Janey switched on the nightstand lamp and smoothed back Jo's white hair.v "Good night, Lamb. You rest now."

Pru peered into the room.

"Good night, Aunt Jo."

The two women retired to the kitchen where the boyfriend had started washing the dinner dishes.

"Put her to bed then?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered Janey. "Oh, honey, you don't have to do that. Get away from there. Come on, let me." She took the sponge from his hand.

The boyfriend wandered into the living room and listened to a few minutes of music on NPR while sifting through an old National Geographic. He then went to check on Aunt Jo. He stood above her, observing. Aunt Jo was perfectly still, her mouth propped open, her fingers curled over her stomach. She was drooling slightly. Her chest was not moving. "Aunt Jo?" said the boyfriend as he neared Jo's face. She had stopped breathing. Pru walked up behind him.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "She's still there, right?"

The boyfriend placed his fingers against Aunt's jugular. Her skin felt cool.

"No. She's gone."

Silence.

"Are you sure?" asked Pru a moment later.

"Yeah. Poor little thing."

Pru hustled to the kitchen. "Mom. Come in here. Aunt Jo."

The two returned to the spare room and they all stood gaping at the dead woman for a minute. She looked peaceful.

"Close her mouth," Pru said to the boyfriend. She grabbed his arm. "Wait, don't touch her."

"We have to touch her, honey," reasoned Janey. She paused. "You know what we have to do."

Pru looked at her mother. "No. NO. I told you I'm not doing that."

"I know it's hard, sweetie, but we all promised. You promised. You know how Aunt Jo wanted it."

"But I don't want to!" exclaimed Pru. "It was so awful with Uncle John!"

"I don't want to either," said Janey. "Not really. But it's just the way it is. You remember what she always said. And this is the most natural death in the world. It's what she wants."

"The freezer is practically empty," said the boyfriend.

"Good," said Janey. "All right, you two. Help me get her into the kitchen."

Janey leaned over and kissed Aunt Jo once more on the cheek.

"Thank you, Aunt Jo," she said.

10/14/02