Tonight I Want to Cry

Holding my mom's hand, the day we brought her home.

My mom passed away on October 10^th.  Her health was declining over the past 5 years, due to a stroke and macular degeneration.  She had a lot of limitations, but she kept going.  She longed to be with my dad, who died 13 years ago.  But, she kept going.  She became unsteady on her feet, and relied mainly on a wheelchair, but she kept going.  She kept going to the door of her assisted living facility, just wanting to go home.  Then she took a fall, resulting in a brain bleed/stroke that left her paralyzed on her right side, and unable to swallow or speak.  Mom had an advanced directive in place, which clearly stated that she didn’t want extreme measures to keep her alive.  I texted the Pastor of our church, who happened to be across the street from the hospital.  He came to her room immediately to give her the Anointing of the Sick, a Sacrament in the Catholic Church.  As he began he announced, “Today is the Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi”.  I burst into tears, as Francis was my father’s name. It was like dad was saying, “It’s ok, I’m here”.  Although she had only uttered “yeah” to questions from nursing staff, mom prayed the entire Our Father out loud with Monsignor Duncan and I.  It was the last time she spoke. 

Enter, Faith Hospice.  I volunteer at Trillium Woods, so I am well aware of what a wonderful facility it is.  Problem: filled to capacity with a waiting list.  Solution: Bring mom home… to her home.  My sister was driving home when from out of the blue this idea popped into her head. Mom hadn’t lived there in 5 years, but we had held onto it.  Recently, her granddaughter had moved in.  Coincidence?  Perhaps.  Rhiannon is convinced that Grandpa called her there to get it ready for Grandma.  There is a beautiful sunroom off the back of the home that backs up to a wooded area.  Quite, peaceful, beautiful.  Everyone knew instantly that this was perfect.  Our dad spent his last days in that very room with family surrounding him. 

Mom moved home.  Her homecoming to precede the big homecoming.  For three full days, she rested peacefully as her children and grandchildren visited, sang to her, read scripture to her, reflected on memories of her, told her they loved her and said their goodbyes.  You really couldn’t have scripted a better transition from this life to the next.  She looked at you as you spoke, and blinked her eyes to respond. 

Two of her last three nights, I slept on a couch in the sunroom with her.  The night before she died, I’m certain that I was touched by an angel.  Unable to sleep due to back pain, I laid awake listening to her oxygen tank and breathing.  Thoughts and images went through my mind, when suddenly, a brilliant flash of the most beautiful golden beams of light appeared in my mind.  So intense that could feel the warmth on my face and the magnetic draw.  It literally took my breath away, and I opened my eyes.  It was only then that I realized that my other thoughts/images were very much black and white.  I think I had been given a little glimpse of heaven. 

Mom passed away about 12 hours later, with Nancy, her firstborn holding one hand, and Rhiannon, her granddaughter holding the other.  Just two other family members were there at that moment, but it was as it was supposed to be.  

The funeral service was a beautiful celebration of her life, complete with three talented grandchildren singing and playing guitar, a family friend shared her angelic voice, children read scripture, and most of her 19 grandchildren and 24 great-grandchildren processed up the center aisle with roses to place in a vase on the alter.  What a legacy.  I read a eulogy on behalf of my family.  It was an honor.

Now, the relatives have made their way home, and life is getting back to its normal rhythm.  But there’s a hole in my heart.  In the stillness and the quiet, I mourn my mom.  I’m sad that I can’t be there to bring her to appointments, out for ice-cream, to mass on Sunday, or to hold her hand.  It hurts to know that I can’t talk through my latest parenting dilemma.  I long to be able to tell her what’s going on in my life.  Tonight I want to cry.  While I have peace with where she is, I have sadness over where she isn’t. 

So, I’ll cry.  When the memories rush in… when I get a hug from a friend… when I hear a sad song.  I’ll welcome the tears.  And I’ll be ok, because she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.  Because life is good, and God is awesome.  Because I have faith. 

I was blessed with a mom and a dad who loved me.  And for that, I’m eternally grateful.