Eventually, doctors told the family she was not likely to recover.
“It didn’t feel real,” Dillon said. “She was Pauline. She survived things nobody else could.”
Her final days
On November 19, Pauline was transferred into hospice care at her sister’s home. The transition was bittersweet. She was alert, talkative, even cracking jokes.
“I thought she was turning a corner,” Dillon said. “She looked at me one morning and said, ‘Hey, bring me some mashed potatoes later. I might try a bite.’ I knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow much, but hearing her ask for food again… it gave me hope.”
The family gathered around her, telling stories, playing her favorite country songs, laughing about old memories. For a few brief days, she seemed like the Pauline they knew.
But she still couldn’t keep down food or liquids — and her breathing grew weaker each night.