I parked my car at an angle at the edge of the parking lot to watch the afternoon sun coming down over the Nantucket Sound behind the light house in Woods Hole - a momentary respite, a little spa break of serenity. I ate a ham and cheese sandwich on a long hard roll and sucked down a warm, slightly sweet cappuccino from the fancy new French bakery on Main Street in town for comfort and sustenance before I began the latest round of calls. Besides my mother, there was the hospital case manager,the nurse, the latest doctor, my mom's 83 year old sister, valiantly trying to take care of her big sister, various other family members and friends in this country and others. Besides the phone calls and endless e-mails, there were all the crushing details and the exhaustion of trying to hold so many pieces at the same time, while shouting over the din of hospital machinery surrounding my 93 year old mother, hard of hearing and definitely not wearing her hearing aids, trying to speak across the airwaves, soundwaves, whatever freaking unfathomable kind of waves it takes for cellphone communication to reach from one sea to another. I never really looked at the water, closing my eyes as I endlessly repeated details, and asked questions about " $20,000 chartered critical care air ambulances", "acute long-term care facilities", "Medicare coverage and time frames", and "levels of oxygen supplied by compressors versus wall units". I closed my eyes to keep my thoughts straight, undistracted by the beauty of the pinks and blues of the sun setting over the water. I knew it was there though, surrounding me, like a mother's love. I knew it was there.