Another sleepless night. There have been so many lately. I check the clock next to my bed, 5:00 a.m. — too early to get up. I change positions, beating my poor pillow into a new shape. 5:15 a.m., my cell phone beeps, the sound advising of an incoming text message. My husband, also awake, asks who would be sending something this early. I know before checking that it must be his brother in Chicago.
He didn’t want to call because it was so early, but he wanted us to know that Mom’s caregivers had called him (since it was later there), to let him know that Mom was “in the very last phases of her life.” He ended the text with, “Today is the day.”
My husband heads for the shower while I go downstairs to feed the dogs and start coffee. He comes down and informs me he is going to eat something quickly and then go to see Mom. I tell him I’ll go with him and hurry upstairs to let our son know what is happening. He’s up immediately, planning to go with us. The two of us dash into our respective showers and are out and dressed, ready to go within 15 minutes.
5:58 a.m., the phone rings.
I grab it, certain that it will be the caregiver and wondering if it is to give us the same message she’s already left in Chicago an hour earlier.
“Your Mom is gone.” Words I’ve been praying to hear because we knew it was what Mom wanted. Words I’ve been dreading to hear because they break my heart. I sigh and say the first thing that comes to mind, “Praise be to God for His mercy.” We speak briefly, her tears as audible in her voice as I’m sure mine are.
I walk to our son’s room. “It’s Grandmama, she’s gone. I need to tell Dad.”
We go down together. My husband, who assumes that the call is the same as his brother had received earlier, isn’t prepared for the news. “Already?” he asks, unable for the moment to take it in. Shared tears, and then I leave him in his son’s arms to call his brother.
More shock. He’d received a call, but had misinterpreted the simple message that Mom was no longer in pain to be more of a status update. None of us had expected the end, when it finally came, to be so swift. Mom had lingered throughout the process, and we had come to expect that this final time would be no exception. But as I look back, I realize that what had felt like an excruciatingly long process had really only been a matter of about six weeks. To all of us, especially to Mom, it had seemed interminable.
Yesterday I’d had enough, and in the quiet and privacy of an empty home had told God exactly what I thought about His “perfect timing.” I wasn’t impressed, and I was angry. I let Him have it with both barrels. I figured He was big enough to hear it and to handle it. If I was going to have a meaningful relationship with Him, then He was going to get me in all my honesty. Afterwards, I felt a calmness come over me. I figured that was His answer—instead of a lightning bolt reducing me to ash—and I was grateful for His mercy and understanding.
We wait until a semi-reasonable hour and my husband makes the first call to his cousin. His heart is too raw, and I decide he doesn’t need to do the rest, so I take over the remaining phone calls to family and old friends. Their reactions range from quiet sorrow to heart-rending sobs. But as I speak with them, they begin relieving fond memories and there is an amazing amount of laughter mixed into the conversations. Their words and voices speak of such love. Without thinking, I begin taking notes as I talk to people. Most of them live too far away to come for the memorial service, and when they express regret, I promise them that their voices will be heard and their stories shared.
The amazing thing in all of this is the continued sense of peace and calm.
The inevitable question comes frequently, “How are you?” I explain to friends that right now it’s a mixture of sadness at her passing and gratitude that she is finally at rest. The rejoicing that we promised Mom will come later. But it’s more than that. I realize that the peace brought through faith has provided an incredibly stark contrast to what I experienced with my own parents. It’s not that she wasn’t really “my” mom so somehow it’s easier. What I realize is that this is the peace that we are promised, the one that “surpasses all understanding.” It’s very real, and I am grateful to God.
5:58 a.m. — not the end, but rather the beginning.
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