Tip of My Iceberg

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?