”Call 911!”

I looked over at my stepfather across the dinner table and repeated the request. “Call 911, please.”

My mother’s home in Brucefield was the ideal place for my sister, Michele, and I to have a retreat. We asked our mother if we supplied gas money, would Ron come and get us for the weekend. Both of us thought fasting and praying in a quiet place would be the answer to what our souls had been craving.

We finished praying, our fast was over, and so we walked into the kitchen where my mother and Ron were waiting for us. I glanced at my mother and noticed she appeared very pale and lethargic. She was looking exhausted, and her eyes were drooping. I grabbed her plate from her and told her to sit down, and I would get her food. She sat while I filled her plate and set it before her, and then dished up mine. Michele and Ron filled their plates, and we all sat down to enjoy a tasty meal.

My mother is diabetic and my first thought was that she had gone too long without eating. We had fasted through the lunch hour and prayed instead.

I am diabetic also, but I was able to fast one meal, yet there was something alarming in her face, which gave me the impression it was not just the diabetes. I had never seen her look so fatigued before.

“Do you feel any better?” I asked after she ate a portion of her food, looking at her closely.

“Yes, a little better.” she smiled at me with her beautiful large brown eyes. I noticed she still looked a little tired.

The meal ended, when suddenly she murmured, “I don’t feel well.’’ With those words, she rolled her eyes, curled her left hand inward and then slumped to the side.

Michele and I rushed to her and noticed she was sweating profusely; droplets of water dripped off her face and ran down her nightgown. We wiped her forehead and started to pray. She was pale and had turned a pasty yellow color. Praying and talking to her, we tried to get her to respond to us. Suddenly I saw a pool of water appear at her feet. Her bladder had released itself.