An opinion column in today's Fort Worth Star Telegram entitled "Clinging to a life that one can barely call a life anymore" reminded me of societies attitude about death. This is my answer to that editorial, and I use some of the writer's phrases and words.
MY MOTHER IS DYING
My mother is dying. She could die today, tomorrow, or perhaps next week. No one, including her hospice care, knows just when she will die, but her death is imminent and, having been at her beside each day for the past several weeks, I can testify that her death is a wonderful experience.
Yes, there are certainly deaths far more gruesome, but her slow death in Holland Lake Nursing Center in Weatherford is filled with daily joys. She has shared a room with an Alzheimer’s patient for the past 12 months, and there has been little/no communication between the two of them. As I think of human life, this seems to be an undignified way to end a wonderful life. So I’ve been thinking about life and death and its meaning more than ever in the recent weeks.
My mother has been preparing for her death for the past 102 years. She was a vibrant younger woman with children and grandchildren and wonderful memories. She has suffered through many of the normal ailments of life, from cancer to strokes to her now fetal position in a bed. She has been in and out of emergency rooms and hospitals and assisted living homes and nursing homes, but she is now under the care of a loving hospice organization. This just affirms the fact that her life on this earth will end very soon.
My mother recognizes that she is dying. We’ve talked about it together, and she answers me often with that small smile of recognition. She gives me that smile when we speak about her past, about her husband who has been dead for 22 years, about her wonderful childhood, about her loving family, and most of all, about her faith. Almost every day I sing hymns to her; I speak to her about heaven and its wonderful promises. Often tears will form in her eyes as she looks forward to the joys of eternity. And she tries so very hard to form the words “I love you” as I say them to her.
I have a question. What is mother comprehending as we spend time together. Does she really know what I’m saying? Is she seeing a small glimpse of heaven right now? Is her mind still working, and she just can’t get the words out? Every one of these difficult questions is puzzling, but these unanswered questions bring joy to me as I visit with her.
Physical death is a part of life. She understands that. I understand it. She grandchildren and great grandchildren, who have visited with her in these final days of her life, understand it. She is now showing us how to die. Early in life she taught us the truth that we now understand. It is that the joy of eternal life comes to all of us through faith in Jesus Christ.
I wouldn’t take anything for this wonderful experience. Each day I’m growing more in my faith as I wait patiently for God to take her to glory.
Mother, I love you!
