Begin Fresh, Finish Well

photo by Vlad Chernolyasov on unsplash

Waiting can be a mixed bag.

We welcomed two new grands into the family recently. The anticipation of the boys’ arrival was filled with wonder. Who would they look like? What will they grow to become? Two more grands are coming in the months ahead, and we await their arrival with the same hope and joy.

I’m now anticipating my Mom’s homegoing. Her death is imminent as she’s quit eating and drinking. Her body is slowly shutting down. This life has become wearing to her. At 94, she has had most everything she used to claim as identity taken from her. No more driving, no more freedom to come and go as she pleases, no more choosing how she’ll spend her time.

I flew to Chicago  to say goodbye and hug Mom for the last time. To look into the face of the woman who bore me and my siblings and try to see who she had been.  She’s lost so much weight that she’s a mere shadow of herself. Her sparkle is gone. Her laugh has disappeared. Her quick retorts are quiet now.

I miss my Mom. And she’s not even gone yet.

What remains of her is not the woman I grew up with. Not the one I fought with, laughed with, cried with, joked with. Not the woman who could charm my friends and loved to party.

Death hasn’t been scary for Mom. She knows she’s going to heaven to be with Jesus, to see Dad again. The process, however, is miserable. She desires to be free of the body that has let her down consistently over the last few years. She’s spoken more of Dad lately, how she misses him and longs to see him. He’s been gone sixteen years, and life for her hasn’t been the same since he passed. He was the love of her life.

I hate seeing Mom in this phase. It’s not easy watching her slow movements, the obvious pain. The part of me that wants to hold onto her and remind her I love her even though we had our differences poses tension with knowing that letting her go is best for her.

It won’t be much longer. Life here doesn’t last forever. I heard someone once say we begin to die the moment we’re born. What begins new quickly becomes affected by the mess of this world and all people in it. I’m not a fatalist, but this place isn’t home.

Heaven is.

We were made for better than what we’ve settled for. We were created by God for a relationship with Him. To enjoy Him here and be with Him forever in a place where there will be no more tears. No more death or destruction.

Mom knows Jesus. She didn’t up until several years ago, but she’s embraced her faith with hope.

I’ll get to see Mom again some day. Of that I’m certain. When I do, it’ll be joy filled, anxiety free and all that I could ever hope to have in a relationship with her.

That’s God’s guarantee.

Do you have that hope?


19 responses to “Begin Fresh, Finish Well”

  1. The tears flow as I emphathize with your situation… and your mom’s. Even when there is hope of eternity with Jesus, the process of getting there can be so very, very difficult. Much love to you, friend. There is something very significant about a daughter losing her mom. I will be praying for you and your family during these next days.


    1. I know how this was hard for you not all that long ago. Thanks so much for understanding and sharing that. It does normalize what I’m going through. Thanks, my friend.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. It stinks that we have to endure these drawn out endings. Prayers for you and yours.


    1. Thanks, Steph. I do think it’s hard–and I’m thinking God must have a purpose for me in this. Appreciate your understanding.


  3. I’m sorry, dear friend, for this transition. It has to be so hard to watch her be stripped of all comfort on this earth and wait for her journey Home. I love that picture of your folks and smile thinking of their reunion. Sending you hugs. 😘


    1. Thanks, sweet friend. It’s so encouraging to have your compassion. I feel like God has me in this for reasons I can’t fathom–yet.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. My heart goes out to you. I’ve been where you are, 7 years ago, waiting with my mother for the end of the journey, celebrating the whole of life rather than the pain of the moment. Know you have my thoughts and prayers.


    1. Thanks, my dear friend. Losing parents is never an easy thing. I’ve been thinking when the Lord takes her home, I’ll be a technical orphan. Old, but an orphan nonetheless. The last ones. Weird.


  5. I can relate in the grief of losing a loved one and how excruciating that pain is, but not at the level of losing such a close family member and that weight of grief that comes with it. And for that, I wish I had the words to say to you as one coming from experience in hopes that it would ease you pain. But I pray for God’s grace and love and peace during this time and that He would reveal himself to you in a way that is tangible, for He is the only one who can bring us true comfort.
    I have been wrestling lately with the fact that this world is not our home in a lot of ways, and it feels overwhelming and hopeless at times. But you are right in the fact that “We were made for better than what we’ve settled for”. And as much as that is a bitter pill to swallow at times, its a real truth and a great reminder that our God still cares, and that He’s not leaving us here in a world of hurt and pain because we know we deserve it. But that He is making for us, our first real home in Heaven with Him.
    So I hope for ultimate hope and faith for you, as you look forward to an ultimate reunion with your precious mom and dad, with as much anticipation as we all have, for that long awaited reunion with our loved ones and our Heavenly Father. I love you, Dayle!


    1. Oh, Maddie, such sweet words and such wise insights! Loss is part of living in this world. Grief is a fact of this life. And it’s why we’ll never be satisfied with here. I say that–feeling it is hard. I really appreciate your compassion, my dear friend.


      1. You and John mean the world to me!!! Love you soooooo much!!!!


  6. Can’t imagine, but my heart hurts for you and your siblings. Thanks so much for writing about it. Praying for you and missing you my sweet friend. May God bless you and comfort you as you say goodbye.


    1. Thanks, Annie. You’re kindness is so appreciated. Putting it down to see helps me see how real it is.


  7. Grace and peace in the Name of Jesus!


    1. Thanks so much for your compassion, sweet friend.


  8. Praying for you now and for those times in the years ahead when she won’t be there for those special moments.


    1. Thanks so much, Sus. I value your love and compassion. You minister more to me than you’ll ever know.


  9. Good information. Lucky me I came across your site by chance (stumbleupon). I have book marked it for later!


    1. Thank you, my friend. Some of the best things in life are things we stumble across. The accidents that make a difference. Tell me more about yourself.


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