I woke up this morning and didn’t know what to do.
One month ago, I woke up and went to work. That weekend I drove up to visit my parents. It was then that I realized just how sick my mom was. She had been diagnosed with cancer in late February, but still looked good in early March. By early April, her appearance had completely changed and she was having trouble breathing from the fluid her body was no longer processing. Suddenly, I knew frequent visits over the next few months was not enough. I needed a new plan. I decided to quit my job and move home to love on my mom and care for my dad for as long as God left them with me.
Eight days later, my mom met Jesus.
Her final days were filled with hospital rooms and hospice beds, nurses, and pain relievers. There were tears, memories, and even a little laughter. But all too quickly came funeral arrangements, flowers, and well wishes from family and friends.
Today marks one week of Mom’s graduation to heaven and our attempts at moving through life without her smile, her wisdom, and her love. This morning, for the first time, there weren’t any services to attend or ceremonies to honor her memory. There was only a beautiful, blue skied Michigan morning returning my gaze out the window. I listened to the silence of the house, knowing the sound of her slippers padding down the hall would not come on this morning. I knew that today I had to begin my new life without her, and I didn’t know what to do.
I had plenty to do of course…errands to run, boxes to unpack, dishes to wash, bathrooms to clean, research papers to write, tests to take…but how does one simply pick up the pieces of a shattered heart and do laundry?
Just before she passed, my mom could barely speak. It took a great deal of energy to pull together words through the fog the morphine had spread through her mind. I was sitting beside her and through my tears, I told her that I wished I could go with her to heaven. She looked at me with eyes that had yellowed from her disease and said, “no.” She didn’t need to say anymore. I knew exactly what she meant. It was her time, not mine. I still need to care for my daddy and continue reaching out to hurting women. I still have words to write and Scripture lessons to teach. As much as I desperately wish I could hug my momma in heaven, it’s not my time to go.
So despite my tears, I find myself running to the store, washing my bedding, and writing…because I know that’s what my mom would want me to do. She believed I could be a great writer if I could dedicate the time to the work, and in asking me to care for my dad in her absence, she has also given me the gift of time. More than anything, I want to use her gift to make her proud.
I don’t know how much time I have left. Mom had only 70 days after her diagnosis to spend with us. None of us expected her life to be cut so short. But God’s plans are higher than our plans (Isaiah 55:9). He knows the moment He will call me home to see His face and hug my mom again. I don’t. But I do know that spending each day in service to others is something both Jesus and my mom can smile about.
Make the most of the time you have.
You don’t know the day or the hour that Jesus will call you or a loved one home. It can be easy to get wrapped up in a job or a routine and forget to relish the time you have with family. It’s so easy to take people for granted and assume that you have time to say the things you need to say, or make memories to cherish for a life time. Regardless of the time you have, it’s never enough. Don’t waste it. Hug your family a little tighter tonight and thank Jesus for another day, another funny story, another mess in the kitchen, another kiss goodnight.
Psalm 90:1-12
Lord, you have been our dwelling place
in all generations.
2 Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
3 You return man to dust
and say, “Return, O children of man!”
4 For a thousand years in your sight
are but as yesterday when it is past,
or as a watch in the night.
5 You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,
like grass that is renewed in the morning:
6 in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;
in the evening it fades and withers.
7 For we are brought to an end by your anger;
by your wrath we are dismayed.
8 You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.
9 For all our days pass away under your wrath;
we bring our years to an end like a sigh.
10 The years of our life are seventy,
or even by reason of strength eighty;
yet their span is but toil and trouble,
they are soon gone, and we fly away.
11 Who considers the power of your anger,
and your wrath according to the fear of you?
12 So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom.
I’m so glad your mom empowered you to advance the kingdom with the few words she had left. I can imagine there’s much freedom in knowing she was so supportive in your ministry to others through deed, words, and writing. You’ll have eternity to sit down and catch her up about all you did for Jesus and your Dad some day. What a day that will be! So glad you can sorrow with hope. Keep holding onto that Anchor of your soul. Love ya buddy.
You are always such an encouragement dear friend. Thank you for your kind words. I look forward to introducing you to my mom someday. Love you.
My 4 sisters and I share almost your exact same experience this month, your sorrow and your hope. God Bless. He wants us to live to serve
Carol, I am so sorry for your loss. It is an indescribable pain.
Praying for you and thinking of you constantly. This is a hard road to walk, and embracing the rhythms of life again as you move through grief can sometimes feel like a betrayal of your own heart and of your pain. But it is really what God uses to heal us. You are a wonderful daughter and there is so much grace for the days ahead. ((Hug))
Thank you for your prayers. I know they are making this transition easier to navigate.