Dear Mama,
It's October 3rd today and time to send you a letter. Oh, I know you don't live here on earth anymore. No, you're in heaven, experiencing much joy. But selfishly, I miss you! I want to tell you the news. You've been freed from your body and were escorted to your heavenly home nearly four years now. I remember that day.....
“I’m sorry. She’s gone.” The caregiver told me. I followed him to my mother’s room. There she was in the chair. Head back. Eyes closed. Mouth open. She could have been asleep but for the stillness of her body. No more quiet, rhythmic movement of her hand that had been affected by the Parkinson’s disease. Her chest was still. She was now breathing heavenly air. The verse ran through my mind.
Precious in His eyes is the homecoming of the saints.
Rose was home. To her eternal one. She had been content to be here on earth those 93 years....
Thirteen days earlier, she seemed to be signing out. She wasn’t planning her days anymore. She graciously allowed others to decide for her. She dutifully opened her mouth to take in food she was urged to eat. She sat in the recliner in the sitting area with the other residents, the big screen TV blasting loudly. Most of the residents couldn’t hear very well. Mom could, though.
Canned laughter spilled from the television. A situation comedy was playing. The dialogue was embarrassing for me to hear with my mother there. We didn’t talk about those things so frankly and openly. I was frustrated with the choice of programs.
“Can’t we put something else on”? I asked the Russian caregiver. “I think they’d enjoy something besides this program.”
“Ve let the patients pick their own program.” She said in broken english. That frustrated me, for they most likely couldn’t see the remote control to change the channel or didn’t know how. It’s hard to communicate with someone who is not familiar with the english language. I was grateful for the kind care my mother received, but this bothered me. I was nearly sure neither of the patients wanted to hear dialogue about live-in couples or alternative life-style situation comedies. I didn’t think it’d hurt to help them find another program such as “The Waltons” or “Little House on The Prairie”. The caregiver most likely didn’t even know of those programs.
My mother, Rose dozed off in her chair as we sat there. “Mom, would you like me to read to you or would you rather rest here?” I normally read one of my stepson, Greg’s, Sunday sermons. Today, though, she seemed so tired. I resigned myself to watching her snore and sleep. Rose roused herself from her drug-induced sleepiness.
“Let’s go to my room.”
“Are you sure? It’s ok if we just sit in here.”
“No. I want to go to my room.” She said firmly.
As the caregiver and I helped Mom in her wheelchair to go down the hallway, she said slowly and breathlessly, “I don’t want you... to forget.”
“Forget what?”
“To...read...to me.”
So I read to her. Last Sunday’s sermon was titled, “The Resurrection and the Life” based on John 15. I read to her and she affirmed with frequent "yeses" for the points given throughout the sermon. It was as though it were written just for her--and me. My voice broke as I read to her. I realized soon, very soon, she would not be here on Earth anymore...
I read more. "We look not at our circumstances, but upon God’s promises. For it is God’s word that creates reality, and he has told us what is going on with us. Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"
27 "Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world." (John 14:25-27).
I continued to read to her from Greg’s sermon. “I believe – this is in the perfect form grammatically, meaning completion. Belief is not an ongoing tenuous thing, like a radio signal that fades in and out. No, it is a decision elicited by the Holy Spirit in the hearing of the Gospel, resulting in a new birth. You have either been born, or you have not. You have either been born again, or you have not....”
“Yes.” Mom said in her quavery voice, re-affirming her beliefs again.
“It will be good to be in heaven, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll get to see your own mother again--and dad.” At age seventeen, she had lost her mother as a result of a sudden brain aneurysm, leaving four children without their mother.
“Yes.”
I usually didn’t talk about death with Mom. She had always looked to her future on earth while living, though she firmly believed in life eternal with Christ. I continued, reminding her of what was to come. “And you’ll see my dad, won’t you?” She nodded her head. I sensed, though I’m not sure if she did or not, that this would be the last time I spoke with her.
I bent down to hug her frail, bony body, sitting in her recliner. “Good-bye Mom.” I’ll see you Friday. Remember, Joyce (my sister) will be down to see you.”
“Yes.” She said again. Her words were few that day.
“Good-bye, Mom.”
“Good-bye, dear child.”
......Three days later, I looked one last time at my mother, sitting there in her chair, so very still. No longer here on earth, she was home at last. I’ll see you later, Mama, in heaven!
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| Mom celebrating her 90th birthday with three of her five children Left to right: Shirley, Rose, Betsy and Eileen |
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