Reflections by a son

September 17, 2003

My mom died September 6.

It's a day that will be as much a part of me now as my own birthday, my wedding anniversary, or my children's birthdays. But, it won't be as "public" a day as these. Most people won't take any note of it.They certainly won't congratulate me on it. But, it's a day that marks a profound change in my life. It's the day I lost my biggest earthly fan.

It was a day on which someone opened a door and I was ushered against my will into a new room and forced to join a new club. Its members, I discovered, are people who have lost a beloved parent. For them, life goes inexorably on, but in a subdued mode.There is something missing. Or, to put it another way, there is a great drag on their souls. I walk through each day now as through a different medium, as if I were under water, where reality is altered, my perceptions are different, and each step is labored, exaggerated, and slow. Or, from a different perspective, I feel as though I walk in a great bubble. I see the world outside, and hear it in muffled tones. But, inside the bubble all is quiet. The world moves quickly along, but I do not. There is this Great Distraction.

Mom's death was quick and painless, and thereby a great blessing. She died of a massive stroke while swimming in a pool where she lived, at the Shell Point Retirement Community in Fort Myers, Florida. Her greatest fear was that she would be a burden on others, and, in her death, as in life, she was scarcely a burden at all.

The coroner's report of Lee County, Florida, will read that she died on September 7, when the life-support systems were withdrawn. We know differently, however. When she collapsed in the pool, all vital signs stopped, according to the medical doctor who helped pull her out of the pool. But, she was quickly "revived", flown to a hospital, and put on life support. The mechanical-lung machine kept her chest heaving and her heart contracting for another day and a half, until her husband and children could arrive at her bedside. But, when the machine was turned off, late in the evening of September 7, she did not take a single breath on her own. (She had been "breathing" the same way a balloon "breathes" when you blow air into it.) Her heart kept beating for another 15-20 minutes, and then gradually slowed to a stop. Her brain had not functioned since the morning of September 6.

We had a wonderful week together as a family, given the circumstances. The life support was withdrawn late Sunday night, and we had a memorial service on Friday, September 12. It was a sweet time of remembering her life, singing some of her favorite hymns, and being encouraged by more than 200 family and friends who came. We spent the week planning the service, making various arrangements, sharing countless stories, laughing and crying, going through her things, and just basking in the blessing that she had been to us.

Mom's life was defined by her husband, her children, her grandchildren. Her greatest joys were to be with them, to cheer them on, to enjoy their company. But, she also extended herself to countless others, and the hundreds (literally) of cards and e-mails that we received are a testimony to that. The short "bio" we wrote for her memorial service will give more detailed testimony of her interests and her ministries.

Even more than she loved us, however, Mom loved her Lord and Savior, Jesus, the Christ. Mom led me in a prayer of commitment to Him at the early age of three or four. I obviously have grown in understanding and commitment since then, but her desire was to see me - and all her children and grandchildren - serve Him as early and as faithfully as possible. She loved us and she prayed for us constantly. Her Bible is full of marked-up pages, and hand-written slips of paper with verses written on them. The back pages are filled up with sayings, poems, and the like, that testify to her love for Him, and her desire to serve Him and to see Him. Among her things that we found were individual letters she'd written to about half her grandchildren, encouraging them and exhorting them in their faith. She obviously intended to do it for all of them, but did not get to finish the task.

My sister Beth tells of asking Mom once what she looked forward to most about Heaven, and Mom answered, without a moment's hesitation, "To be without sin." In so many ways, she puts me - far greater sinner than she - to shame. One of my abiding memories of her is her faithful, daily "quiet time", a time of reading her Bible, a devotional book or two, and then praying though an extensive prayer list that included every one of her children and grandchildren. It's with a feeling of great loss that I realize that she will not be interceding for me now...unless she is still doing so now in her transformed state.

The Shell Point Retirement Community was such a blessing for her. She and Dad had only moved in less than three months ago, and it was a great gift that he gave her in doing so. This place represented safety and security for her, who had been slowing down physically (and mentally) for several years. She was happier in her last two and a half months than she had been in years. The lilt in her voice every time I talked to her in that time testified to that. And, the people of Shell Point, including the pastor and staff of The Village Church there, rallied around us last week in ways that were so affirming.

So, life goes on. I will teach my classes, write my lectures, articles, and books. I will do what has to be done at home, at church, in the neighborhood. But, I will still walk as though underwater, or in that great bubble, at least for a time. I think a lot about Heaven now. I wonder what it's like for her. I am jealous of her joy. I long to be there to see her, to rejoice with her.

I will miss her cheery "Ola, chico!" ("Hi, kid!")when I call her on the phone. I will miss her unconditional love - for me, for my wife, for my children. I will miss the inevitable affirmation that I'd know was coming whenever I'd send her something to read. She devoured everything I ever wrote, no matter how technical, and she was proud of her son. She was proud of all her sons. And her daughter.

We know, of course, that she's in a better place, that she's rejoicing like she never rejoiced before, enjoying the fullness of life in ways that we cannot even imagine, and singing the praises of the Lamb. And, for that, we're happy. But, somehow, the very real void that we feel here and now shuts out, for the most part, the more abstract knowledge we have of her joy. We are, in that sense, profoundly selfish.

So, yes, we are happy for her happiness. But, we weep for ourselves. We rage at Sin and Death, which have brought this great evil upon us. We rejoice that Christ has conquered Sin and Death, that we have that Blessed Hope, and that we shall see her again.

But, nevertheless, in our selfishness, we weep. She is much better off now, but we are not. We are much the worse for this. At least it seems so now.

We will all miss her.