My family crowds around my head, my youngest clasping my hand, my husband stroking my hair. I stare up at them from the hospital bed that's been my unwilling home these last few months, trying to soak in every detail of their faces, every mole, every freckle, every crooked mouth.

Not long now, I think. I can feel death creeping towards me, ever nearer. How odd to finally be at the end of my life; to know that I've done all I'll ever do. Death is something I haven't thought of frequently in my 57 years, or at least, not my own death. I'd hoped of course it wouldn't be drawn out, or painful; hoped like everyone does that I'd go peacefully in my sleep of old age. The cancer that ravaged my body so quickly had other plans.

I watch my youngest girl's silent tears stream down her face. Of all my children, she'll have the hardest time with my passing, I'm sure of it. She understood me, and I her, better than anyone.

"Don't cry," I whisper, knowing it's what I'm supposed to say, knowing it won't do anything to stop her tears. "I'm about to go on such an adventure."

She returns my watery smile and nods shakily. "Of course you are. Just imagine what's waiting for you - Granny, and Pepper, and Auntie Lynn and-." She breaks off, turning her head towards her husband's chest besides her.

What's waiting for me. I ponder this. I've never been religious; I'm not entirely sure I believe in an after life, with all my loved ones standing around waiting for me like the guest of honor at a surprise party. But it also seems so unlikely that it will just - end.

Between one blink and the next, the scene shifts before me like an old film reel. Suddenly, I'm no longer in an overly bright hospital room. I'm seated in the dining room of a familiar cabin, small and homey, facing down a plate of green beans.

"We can sit here all night Mabel, but you best believe you'll be finishing those green beans." The words come from behind me; I rotate in my chair to see my mother, in her prime, staring me down with hands on her hips.

"But I don't LIKE green beans," the words come from my mouth without conscious thought. And I do like green beans, I think, something 7 year old me would be horrified to learn.

"Too bad, because I made a big ol' pecan pie for dessert. Looks like pa and I will be finishing that ourselves." With these words, she sashays into the kitchen, leaving me staring after her.

The world shifts again. Suddenly I'm sitting in the front seat of a beat up Oldesmobile, Halloween playing on the drive in screen 20 yards away, Ricky Garner leaning in towards me. I remember this scene; my almost first kiss. I cringe as I recall what will happen next. Right on cue, Bella Alwin bangs on the drivers side door, distracting Ricky and his puckered lips. He rolls the window down for her and she says, batting her eyelashes and utterly ignoring me, "Hey Ricky. My car's dead, and me and Rach can't figure out how to jump it. Mind coming to help us?"

"Uh yeah, sure." He gets out of the car without a word to me, following Bella as she flounces through the parking lot. I know that he won't return until the movie is long over.

I blink again, and this time, it's my wedding night. Andy and I are parked in the lot of Mcdonald's, wolfing down burgers and french fries, bemoaning the teeny tiny portions of beef slop our wedding caterer had served us. We're howling with laughter, and I feel my cheeks aching from smiling so much; I've never been so happy, and so in love. I'd forgotten how it had felt; how that night had set up the next 34 years of our marriage.

Another blink, another tilt of the world. Now I'm the one staring down a 7 year old. "Why on earth did you draw on the walls Cara? There's plenty of paper in your playroom!"

She stares guiltily up at me and says, "Benji said it was okay mom, I swear, he told me you'd like some art we made to be forever!" I blow out of my nose and turn around. It's exactly the sort of thing her brother would convince her of. I can see the sink full of dishes, and a basket full of laundry waiting to be folded, and know I need to start dinner in the next half hour or we won't be eating before 8. Now's not the time to fix Cara's Sharpie drawing of our family; 5 neat stick figures and one smaller one depicting Pepper, the family dog, carefully lined up on the kitchen wall, at perfect 7 year old eye height. I didn't know it at the time, but that drawing would remain there for another 3 years before we finally got around to painting over it.

With this blink, I'm brought back to my hospital bed, reeling from what I've seen, what I've remembered, what I've relived. My family stares down at me, concerned. I have no idea what I must have looked like, what time has passed for them, if any.

I smile. If this life is all I've done, I've done enough.