“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”

These were the words the Hospice music therapist sang as she played the guitar in that death-filled room. She had the voice of an angel and as I listened, I watched every labored breath my daughter took.

The angelic voice continued, “Twas Grace that taught, my heart to fear. And Grace my fears relieved. How precious did that Grace appear, the hour I first believed.”

I lovingly whispered to my firstborn, “Let go, please let go. I will be there for your son and daughter.” It was the presence of Grace that made me realize God was kind enough to let me have my only daughter for 53 years. But now he wanted her, and my job was not to question that decision.

“Through many dangers, foils and snares, we have already come. Twas Grace that brought us safe thus far, and Grace will lead us home.”

Loving professional nurses, aides and doctors were able keep her free of pain for that year, a false sense of security if you will, because death was imminent. It was not if — it was when.

“The Lord has promised good to me, his word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be, as long as life endures.”

My daughter berated the doctors and accused them of not believing in miracles, as they relied on their medical knowledge. But God knew we needed time together to deal with the aggravating antics of Asperger syndrome, a newly recognized neurological disorder that plagued her from birth. This disorder affected her life as well as the rest of the family.

“When we’ve been here ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun. We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise, than when we’ve first begun.”

And then one evening I received a call from the attending nurse — the one who used to hold my daughter’s hand at night, tell her soothing stories and put her stuffed animals in bed with her.

She said, “Come back to the nursing home as the bright light went down the hall and stopped at your daughter’s door and there were two knocks on the sixth-floor window, definitely a sign the angels were getting ready to take her home.”

The drive back to the nursing home on that dismal night was an out-of-body experience. I remember pulling out of my driveway. Memories flooded my mind.

She was such a beautiful baby, almost too perfect; her fear of entering kindergarten; the defiant look on the face of the classmate who bullied her; her first Holy Communion and the white lace dress I made for her; our out-of-town shopping trips; the Friday night fish fry; the wonderful grandson and granddaughter she blessed me with; the thrill when she finally graduated into the nursing profession.

I woke from my trance as I entered the parking lot of the nursing home. The angelic voice and the perfect pitch of the guitar continued, but now almost heaven like.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found,” and as she sang “was blind but now I see,” my daughter opened her eyes and then closed them to death — and part of me died with her.