The End and Beginning

Psalm 56: 8-- “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.”

On Wednesday evening, my sister phoned to tell me that Mom was showing more signs that the end was near. And, as we wept together, dreading the final moments, knowing that Mom’s body was uncomfortable, I longed for her Homegoing all the more, for the suffering to cease.

12:55 a.m.
I woke uncomfortably. Just couldn’t find the right position. Wondering why I was up at that hour. And then I knew that I needed to pray for Mom.

God woke my brother up at the very same time. As he walked outside, he asked God to take Mom quickly.

4:41 a.m.
Mom took her final breath as Dad walked through the doors of the nursing home.

7:46 a.m.
As I gathered A and I to head out to see Mom, I listened to a voicemail my Dad left for me at 5:25 a.m. My knees dropped to the living room floor. Sobs spilled out everywhere. My cry extended endlessly like a note carrying over eternal measures.

Dad was unable to talk at the time so I phoned my sister. She confirmed what I knew to be true. I thought I’d be ready to hear it. I had envisioned this moment for years. One can simply never be ready.

Soon we were all at Dad’s house.

The day was a whirlwind of weeping, hugging, remembering, laughing, and resting. Phone calls. More weeping. Almost-sleeping. Keeping on. Smiling. Crying.

Dad was the only one who saw Mom shortly after she passed. We all knew in advance that her body would promptly be transported to the University of Penn for an autopsy. In light of the circumstances and with sincere compassion, the funeral director kindly offered us the gift of a private viewing of Mom that evening.

I wept as we drove to the funeral home, as we walked through the doors, and as we waited to be greeted. I trembled. A woman ushered us into another room, telling us to take as long as we needed, to pull up chairs if we’d like. I looked past her, avoiding eye contact, just wanting to see my Mom. Then, I saw her. Her profile. Her frame. And, I heard my thunderous weeping in the still, quiet room. There she laid, but yet not her.

What I noticed first was her stillness. The final days of her life were so unsettled. Her body’s response to the lack of food often woke her from sleep. But, that night, as her precious, thin frame laid there in that room, it was still, not bound by a broken sinful body anymore. We could not help but reflect on the fact that she looked peaceful, absent and free. My Dad cried out, “She’s not in here any more… she’s FREE! She’s free!” It was undeniable.

We must have spent an hour there, just staring at her and talking. Commenting on her lovely skin, noticing the effects of a long physical battle, reflecting on the smile we had not seen in so long. Her expression reminded us all of days long past. And, something about her laying there made me think of all the times I’d walk into their room in the early morning, to greet her sweet, sleeping face in bed. That’s how she looked to me. It was an hour filled with tears, joy, weeping, sorrow, and thankfulness. We took the opportunity to remember and also reflect on all God did through her in the midst of an awful disease. And of His goodness. And of Mom’s wonderful spirit through it all. Such a gift from the Lord. I’ve never seen the Fruit of the Spirit more present in anyone than in my Mom through Alzheimer’s.

As we stood there, Dad told us about a conversation that I remember well. When we told Mom she had Alzheimer’s for the very first time, she asked Dad, “Will I be okay?” He simply said, “Yes, you will be fine. I will take care of you.” And she was fine with that answer and never asked him again. He kept His promise and she made it a blessing for him to do so. It was the most beautiful picture of trust. We have been blessed as children to watch their story unfold and even to see it come to completion.

It came time to leave the funeral home. I wrestled with it. How could I possibly say goodbye to this face? How could I leave her body lying there? It was anguish. Utter defeat. Misery. To turn my head, yet turn back again, knowing I’d never see her again in this world. Could I stay the night? Was I crazy?

I knew that she was gone, but I just wanted to hang onto that image, to never forget. To hold her one last time. But I knew it was all different now.

There were so many times these past few weeks that I just sat by Mom’s side, staring at her, taking it all in, wanting to comfort her every feeling, her every sense and pain. I wanted to memorize her face, her eyes looking at me. To remember those hands in mine.

I never knew death could be such anguish. I had never imagined how deep the pain would throb and twist. It’s a part of this world that God never intended us to experience. It is crushing. The weight of it all. How I’ve never really grasped what Christ did on the cross for us – taking on all sin and death – taking our place, feeling separation from the Father.

Romans 8:38 assures me that when we are united with Christ in His death and resurrection, we don’t have to experience this separation for eternity. (For those apart from Christ, eternal separation from God does exist – Luke 16:19, Matthew 5, 25, 18, Isaiah 30.) As believers, when our bodies are resurrected, death is ultimately defeated!

1 Corinthians 15:54-57

“Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:
Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?

For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power. But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

I must confess, there were times when I felt such confusion. When standing over the lifeless body of my mother, I faced the reality: Do I believe all that I say I do? Do I trust the resurrection of Jesus? And, I wrestled again with the injustice. I almost felt as if the disease had won. After all, she was gone. She died from Alzheimer’s. It took her. Or, did it?

In Matthew 27:46, as Christ hung on the cross in great distress, he quoted Psalm 22:1: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” He experienced separation from the Father in bearing our sins. But, as the rest of the Psalm indicates and as was His promised resolution, the victory was about to be secured. Deliverance was coming! Only God could take suffering and death and bring victory and redemption! Only Christ in His perfection could stand in our place.

Romans 6:23 says, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” We deserve death. He offers life.

Romans 5:10 shares that Christ’s death and resurrection is necessary for our salvation. We’re reconciled through His death and life.

Christ knew that the Father would be faithful. And, I know that I can never be separated from His love (Romans 8:38). And, I aspire to be like Abraham, who didn’t waiver in trusting the Lord, who was fully convinced that He would do as He promised.

Christ secures eternal life for all those who trust in Him. I put my whole heart, my entire life, my trembling body in the face of death, my entire trust in Him. And, I am completely confident that there will be no separation. And, there never was for my Mom.

Sweet victory. She is FREE! Praise the Lord – she is FREE!

Jesus lives and so shall I. One day I will also rise and meet Him! What a day that will be!

Today, as spring ushers in and I see new life blooming, I praise the Lord that through death, my Mom now sees LIFE.