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When my grandma was dying, my born-again Christian mother was very concerned about the state of her soul. One day, after staying by her side for days and days, Mom asked Grandma if she would care to invite Jesus into her heart as her personal savior.
Grandma said, "I'm kinda like S____ [that is, *me*, her granddaughter]. I don't like anyone bossing me."
I am flattered by this story, because my grandma and I share this in common. We don't want to believe in Mom's religion. We're not Christians. It's a fact.
As the weeks went by, Grandma got unbearably sick and so the morphine drip began. My mother did an incredible job of helping her pass away in as much comfort as possible-- except for one important mistake.
A day or two before she died, Mom asked Gma again about the Jesus thing. As drugged as could be, and with very little time left to experience life, Grandma nodded to this and Mom performed the Invitation-To-My-Heart ritual with her.
After my grandma died, Mom told me this horrific story. Grandma did not want to become a Christian, but Mom took advantage of her incapacitation and inability to consent to satisfy her fear of Gma burning in hell for all eternity.
Sometimes Mom and I get into it about god, and this comes up. I've never told her what a reprehensible, immoral thing she did. I want to make sure this doesn't happen to me.
Grandma, I know you weren't able to make choices on your deathbed. I know you lived your life according to your own values, and nothing my mom did in the hours before your passing changes that. This "conversion" is a farce, and it doesn't count. May you rest in peace.
