My mother has just passed away following a nearly 16 year journey through Alzheimer's disease. I offer the following account of her passing in order to share the comfort I have received.
The day before Mom died, she was so comfortable and
peaceful. She kept saying “Peace, peace,
it is so beautiful.” She repeated this
in various ways throughout our visit; “It is so beautiful! So peaceful!”
She was not looking at me, but through me, or upwards, toward
the corner of her room where wall met ceiling.
At one point she exclaimed, “Look at that beautiful face! Just perfect!
So beautiful!”
I made a quick check of where she was gazing to see whether
the veil might have lifted for me as well, but no. I asked, “Is it Jesus?”
She hesitated and then answered, “I think so.”
That she answered a direct question at that point was kind
of astounding as she had not been responding to me or seeing me.
Mom was comfortable up until her last 24
hours. If there had not been a delay in
getting her started on the 15-minute interval doses of medicine that hospice
gives for dying pain, I don’t think she’d have had that hour of extreme
struggle. Well, it seemed extreme to me and it may not have lasted more than a
few minutes; time telescoped into a form that what seemed like hours may only
have been minutes. It was distressing to
see her labored breathing, so reminiscent of someone suffering labor pains to
bring forth a child.
That thought of the similarity to what Mom was enduring to
the labor of childbirth was comforting to me.
I had positioned myself beside Mom on her narrow bed and wrapped my arms
around her, praying for her, so that her suffering was my suffering. At first I thought I couldn’t bear the
intensity of her anguish, but then the thought of how we all embrace labor and
childbirth for the sake of the joy that follows put her suffering into
perspective for me; she was heading to the joy of Jesus’ presence.
Some time later (5 minutes? 30 minutes?) two nurses appeared to
reposition her and I was so cramped and nearly frozen into position that I had
to do a kind of gymnastics move to get out of the bed—both nurses thought I was
falling and moved toward me to catch me.
I landed awkwardly on my feet, straightened up, gave a sheepish
smile. They quickly and professionally returned
to the task at hand.
My husband, John, was visibly shaken and gave forth the information that
my father had gone through the same thing that last day of his life (while I was at my job teaching children to read, this dear man had supported my mother in helping her to see my dad through his final days of life).
I said, “You know it’s just like laboring in
childbirth, so similar to having a baby.”
John shook his head vigorously and said, “No, no, it isn’t.”
And I said, “Honey, you never had a baby.”
I was illuminated by the thought that Mom
did not appear to be suffering the level of pain I felt myself to
have survived in order to bring my children into the world. It was a profound shift in understanding; I
had gone willingly into a second pregnancy despite the fairly traumatic suffering
of my first pregnancy and childbirth experience. Why?
Because of the surpassing joy of holding that new baby in my arms.
I think the difference in our perceptions between laboring
in childbirth and laboring to achieve separation of body from spirit is that as observers, we
don’t see with human eyes the great joy at the end of the dying labor. But we can receive it on faith.
“Weeping may endure
for a night, but joy comes in the morning,” (Psalm 30:5).
“ Very
truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You
will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A
woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when
her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is
born into the world. So with you: Now is your time
of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one
will take away your joy” (John 16:20-22).
Praising God with you that your precious mother is safely home. I have heard death described in these terms before...that it is like the labor of delivering a child. You have been a faithful daughter walking beside your mom as she traveled this road. Joy just ahead indeed!
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing this journey. It helped me and my own family as we traveled this road, albeit for a much shorter time. Many comforts and blessings to you and your family.
Thank you so much, Vee.
DeleteI'm sorry for your loss Linda, but know you take comfort in the fact your mom is in heaven. How special that the Lord allowed her to not only see peace before she passed, but to express it to you. Thank you for sharing these private moments. Praying for you and your family. ~ Abby
ReplyDeleteThank you, Abby <3 You have such an understanding and compassionate spirit; thank you for the blessing of your prayers.
DeleteWhat an end to such a long journey. My mother-in-law passed away just over a year ago, and this brings back much of that experience. Her last 24 hours were hard to watch, but thankfully hospice was in place and helped a great deal.
ReplyDeleteI think your analogy is exactly right. Death is awful in itself, whether it's sudden (as in my mom's case, dying unexpectedly in her late 60s), or long and drawn out as in my mother-in-law's case (passing away at 90 after 3 years in hospice). But, oh, the joy set before us! Knowing their suffering has ended, there's no more decline and pain, their minds are in perfect working order, their hearts are totally right.
That last thought was a special blessing in connection with my father. He had been an alcoholic and very angry most of his life. He miraculously became a Christian in his 60s and passed away at 67 or 68. I was surprised at how much anger I had at his death over things that were still unresolved and now never would be. Then God brought Hebrews 12:23 to mind about "just men made perfect." I realized that if my father could speak to me from heaven, he would have understanding about his actions and he would want to apologize. That gave me a measure of peace that even though we never had that kind of conversation on earth, I knew his heart was in the right place now.
My heart goes out to you, Linda. May God give you grace for the days ahead. Even with the joy of heaven, we still miss our loved ones while we're parted.
Thank you so much for sharing on your blog. Much of what you shared over the years helped me in my own caregiving situation.
Barbara, thank you so much for sharing these thoughts with me. I especially appreciated the reference to Hebrews 12:23, thank you.
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