My Mom was dying.My oldest sister was crying, saying goodbye and “I love you” over and over again, as she cradled Mom’s head in her arms. A breathing apparatus covered Mom’s face. I held Mom’s hand, also crying openly, as I echoed my sister’s words.Around us, the nurses and other hospital medical staff were in critical-emergency mode - Steven, the respiratory therapist who, I later learned, was being tested in this manner for the first time in his profession; the nurses and Mom’s primary doctor, deep concern etched on their worried faces - grandkids sobbing all over, consoling hands holding the shoulders and arms of their stoically quiet grandpa.Then my third RN sister showed up.