By Urmila Devi Dasi"No Krsna rituals," my cousin the doctor admonished me. Although not her attending physician, being a doctor he had more or less taken charges of things."Your mother was not a Hare Krsna. Let her die as she lived." "But," I argued, "these last weeks I've been chanting to her, reading stories to her from our scriptures, singing devotional songs. She often asked me to , and really loved it.Why should I do something different today?" I was hopeful, yet nervous. For two weeks now I'd been with my mother twelve hours or more a day. The first week my muscles gradually became intensely strained, as I was on constant full alert, trying to notice when death would come so I could help her remember Krsna. Finally I understood: If I told my mother to surrender to Krsna, I had to do the same. The time and circumstances of her death were not in my hands. I couldn't be with her every moment, controlling the situation. Hadn't her roommate here in the nursing home, apparently in reasonably good condition, died unexpectedly from a heart attack practically in this very room just days ago? At that moment, I'd been at the nurses station. Would I be there when my mother's death came?
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