Our Last Conversation

I never did write about the last conversations I had with my mother before her death.   I've left these out mainly because it hurt too much.  The pain was so fresh, I thought it would tear my heart out.  But it is the only piece still missing in this story, so I will give it a try now.

I am a Christian.  A follower of Christ.   I believe that Christ is the Son of God, that He came to earth as a baby to live a sinless life and to die, crucified, on the cross.  This He did to atone for my sin, to pay the penalty I could not pay.  I believe that He rose again on the third day and now resides in Heaven at the Father's right hand.   It is by the grace of God alone that He called me by name and saved me.  This not of myself. I did nothing.   I was raised a Roman Catholic.    I was taught that yes, Christ died on the cross for my sin, but I had to work my way into heaven, nonetheless.  This is a lie. Those who believe this, or any other "gospel" are headed for hell.  Full stop.  My mother was a Roman Catholic her entire life.  I had tried, many times, over the years to share the truth with her.  Early on I was zealous, later on I was more discreet.  Trusting God's will to be done, which it always is. 

I made sure that my mother knew how much I loved her and what a wonderful mother she was. She said that she hoped God thought so too.  It was here that I shared the gospel with her.  I made sure she knew that it was through Christ alone that she will enter Heaven.  That she could never be good enough, because no one is.  Before I left I tore out pages from my Charles Spurgeon devotional and left them on the table for her.  These pages clearly explained the gospel, in more eloquent words.  Clearly my mother had read these pages.  She brought them with her to the hospital this last time.  She must have read them, they were in with her prayer cards.  So she knew the truth.

I told her that all the best in me was because of her.  I told her I loved her very much.  I held her tightly.  I didn't cry.  I had to hold it together, for my daughter.  For me.  I wasn't very eloquent in my speech, I was holding back tears.  I knew my mom was in so much pain, although she never told me as much (protecting her baby until the last).  I said my last good bye.

Our last visit had to end.  I had prolonged our stay for a week to help care for her when she came home from the hospital .  This I did, non stop.  I was exhausted when the day came for us to depart.  Even now, nearly three years later, I cry remembering that day.  On previous visits I would always think, "maybe this is the last time I will see her alive."  Half-heartedly, but a thought, nonetheless.  This time I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I would never see my mother alive again.  If I could put into words what it felt like leaving that day, I would.  But there really are no words. 

When we left,  we headed east for a special two-day birthday surprise for my daughter.  Upon arriving at our hotel I called my mom to tell her of our safe arrival. We talked for a few minutes.   My mom asked me if I was happy. I answered the best I could at that moment.  She knew she was dying.  She knew that her time on this earth was limited, so she wanted to tie up loose ends.   I reassured her that I would be fine, that I loved her so very much.  And then the call ended.  I wish I had talked to her longer that day. 

Even now, nearly three years later, I have difficulty adequately recounting the events of those last days.  Of all my siblings (with the exception of my brother who lives close by her) I was the last to have a visit with our mother, as our mother.  By the time my sisters got there she was already in the last stages of her journey to death.  I should feel blessed that I had that time with her, and I do, but I was not there the day she died.  Everyone else was.  I feel that something is left undone...and there is no way to complete it.  I suppose, with time, the feeling with fade - maybe.  Who knows.  It doesn't really matter now.  She's gone.

I realize that this is post is basic, at best.  I have written as best as I can.  The details will remain in my heart forever, as I relive those days when I miss her most.  One day, hopefully not long from now, I will remember the happier, more pleasant times.  But for now, for me, I am still grieving the loss of my mother.  Yes, almost three years now.  You can not put a time limit on grief.  It is what it is, and for me - it is.

Two Years

**I just realized that I never posted this.  In three short months, it will be three years since my mother died.  I will just say "ditto" to what I have typed below.  The pain is still there.  I am just better at living with it and hiding it from others.  I feel so alone in my sorrow.  Yet, I know that the Creator of this universe, the One who created me, is with me.  Still, even today.  Soli deo Gloria.


It has been two years since my mother died.  If I stop and think about that, it blows my mind.  Life has, in fact, gone on.  The sun has risen and set 730 times since the moment my mother took her last breath on this earth.  I am two years older.  Other than that, nothing else has changed.  That doesn't seem right.  It doesn't seem fair.  The absence on this planet of the woman who gave birth to me and raised me to adulthood should have more of an impact on this world.  

My mother's departure from this world has left a large hole in my heart.  I am not so sure that I will ever find anything to fill the void she left.  I am thankful to God for His loving care of me over these last two years.  He is the one who has helped me not feel so alone.  He has wiped my tears away. 

Visiting Again

I am visiting again.  My Dad is okay.  He makes it through each day doing what he always has done..when my mom was alive.  All the while missing his wife as though he is missing a limb.  I miss her too.  It is coming up on two years since she died.  You would think that it would be getting easier to deal with, but it hasn't.  Sure, I have learned to live with her absence, so has my dad, but it does not take away the pain she left in my heart, and his, when she died.

Funny though, the picture that was sitting on the table since her death, where Dad eats his meals,  has now been moved to the counter.  What does this mean?  Is he forgetting? Has his love for his wife grown faint?  Or has he, like the rest of us, learned to live without her in our lives?  I think the latter to be true.  In order to move forward you have to leave something behind.  This fact really hurts like hell. 

I find myself going into her closet to catch a whiff of her perfume.  Is there any smell left?  Has time robbed me of that as well?  I search and look and finally, in another closet, find a blazer she wore a lot.  I smell her perfume.  I smell her.  I breathe in and my memory takes me to a place where she is still alive and laughing.  Where all is right with the world.  It is fake, it is phoney.  She is not here, she is gone, never to be seen again.  I can not stand this.  The pain of her absence is more than I can bare alone.  I will live the rest of my life without my mother.  Soon, my dad will join her. 

I look to the one who alone gives peace, who alone gives comfort.  I have nothing but the promise of the cross of Christ.  I cling to it.  There is nothing else.

Some Days I Miss My Mother Very Much

Today is one of those days.

A dear friend's mother died a few days ago.  In speaking with her she recounted the last few days she spent with her mother, before she died.  I am glad that I could be there for my friend, whose grief is so fresh, however, my heart has been aching ever since.  Oh how I miss mom.

I wish I could have shared with my friend that the pain she feels will go away or lessen somehow.  I couldn't, because it hasn't for me.  The times that I cry may be fewer and spaced farther apart, but the heartache is the same as the day she left this earth.  In order to survive I have learned to live with this pain.

Somehow I must face the rest of my life without the woman who gave me life.  Without the woman who sacrificed so much of herself for me.  It is only by God's grace I am able to continue.  My friend shared something with me that gave me comfort -- because I know Christ, God IS with me.  I am never alone in my sorrow.  Praise be to God.  He is faithful, He is carrying me, He will complete this work in me. 

Until I reach heaven's door I will remember my mother and all she gave me.  I will remember her in the best parts of me, because they are because of her.   I will continue to keep her memory alive in the stories I tell.  I will see her face every time I look at my daughter.  I will continue to love and honor my father.  And I will remember how much she loved me. 

It is Well with my Soul

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to His cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pain shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

And Lord haste the day, when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

Soli deo Gloria. Amen.

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Charles Spurgeon Was a Very Wise Man

If you perish praying for mercy through the precious blood, you will be the first who ever perished that way. Cry on; just cry on. But believe, too, for believing brings the morning star and the day dawn. ~CH Spurgeon


I am still waiting for the morning star and the day dawn, but I know that my God is faithful.

Easter

My mother made every holiday something special.  She especially loved Easter.  I can see us all dressed up, taking a family photo, before church on Easter Sunday.  I think it was more than just the holidays that she loved - she loved family.  My mother held us together.  We weren't the perfect family, but we had love for each other.  She made us see the importance of spending time together.  And we did.  I just wish I could have appreciated that time together more when I was younger and we were all geographically close.  It is so different now.  My Dad and brother live far away and I have a sister who really wants nothing to do with me. I am grateful for my oldest sister who, although busy with her adult children's problems, has been a good sister to me and a constant in my daughter's life.

I am especially missing my mom today.  Sometimes I hear her voice in my head, and my heart aches again.  This pain has been the worst pain I have ever felt.  In these moments of great sadness I work at turning my attention outward and upward.  Outward to those around me that I love and upward to the only One who can take away my pain.  The One whose death on a cross saved me from my sin and gave me hope.  Hope for life everlasting.  Hope that I will, one day, see my  mother again and hear her voice.  Soli deo Gloria.

The Weariness

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal." (2Corinthians 4:15+)




If there was no God, there would be no Jesus.  If there was no Jesus there would be no hope.  I have a hope that is other-worldy.  A hope that rests squarely in the life and death of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  I take nothing for granted.  I am humbled by the fact that I was called by name, and that I belong to Him.  


Soli deo Gloria