I clearly recall the beginning of the sorrow after a tiring seven days spent in Montana. Although the specifics are unclear, they involved doctor appointments, phone calls, late-night discussions, family gatherings, and the confirmation of my mom's dementia diagnosis.
On that day, I took three flights; with every takeoff, leaning my head against the cool windowpane brought forth tears, though I tried to remain discreet from the fellow passengers.
That marked the first time I said farewell to my mom.
Upon reaching my waiting husband, I greeted him with tears and the simple statement, “She is no longer with us.”
He was distressed, thinking she had passed away, but I managed, through catching my breath, to clarify that even though she remained physically present, the 'Mom' we knew throughout our lives had changed.
The grief I experienced that day and in the subsequent period occurred years ago.
***
Sorrow presents itself in complex ways; most days I accept mom’s condition with quiet grace, while on others, the ache feels like a fierce, burning fire within my heart, with fluctuating intensity.
The final moment I saw mom, my bright-eyed husband managed to draw a sweet smile from her.
This is how I have envisioned her over the past year and a half, considering the considerable distance between us and my mom.
My siblings recently contacted me to share that her health is worsening, which has caused me considerable shock and pain, despite my feeling of preparation.
***
Recently, while looking for a photograph for a friend, turning through our photo albums revealed her gentle, smiling face repeatedly.
Mom; she features in countless pictures capturing our family's moments.
She was present for the birth of each of our children, caring for them by bathing, cooing, and talking until their small lips curved into a smile.
Her greatest joy, however, was rocking them to sleep, singing a particular lullaby while doing so.
“Let’s talk about Jesus…
the King of Kings is He…”
The melody continued, blending one hymn into the next; I believe she composed this medley independently, refining it while soothing her five children over the years.
It was lengthy, sung at a gradually slower tempo, a perfect method for guiding a restless baby into peaceful slumber.
Last night, while struggling to sleep, I contemplated Mom’s lullaby and arrived at one of its concluding verses.
“This world is not my home I’m just a’ passin’ through my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue. The angels beckon me on Heaven’s open shore and I don’t feel at home in this world anymore.”
It is peculiar; despite being a middle-aged woman, a part of me still deeply desires my mom.
Here.
this occurs on our planet.
A peculiar sense of safety remains knowing her presence continues.
It saddens me when kind individuals suggest, “Things would improve greatly if she simply moved on.” My mind concurs, but my spirit resists.
However, my deepest conviction is that in Heaven, she can once more converse, laugh, and be complete; she will be Home.
This represents a wonderful hope.
While browsing photo collections with tears falling, a specific image caught my eye upon turning a page:
And I smiled. I cannot explain the reason, yet I appreciate that my husband recorded it.
The blessing of mirth; my mother adored laughter. Truly, it was one of her most treasured gifts to me. Regardless of the challenge or the solemnity of the moment, she always helped me rediscover joy.
Thank you, Mom. I eagerly await the time we can laugh together once more…
