The Beauty Operator

When Mother was in the nursing home, one of the things she wanted more than anything was to get her hair permed. As far back as I remember, she always had her hair permed. About a year before she died, she had her hair cut very short and wore it straight. She never liked it that way though. She was used to her curls and longed to have them back again. Her hair had finally grown enough to get a perm, but by then, she was in too much pain to have it done. Her nursing home roommate got her hair done every week and Mother couldn't wait to have hers done again. Once she had the injection in her hip and her pain subsided, she planned to get a perm.

When I was little, Mother would go to the "beauty operator" to get her perms. I don't know where the term beauty operator came from, but it always sounded to me like you needed surgery to become beautiful. (The older I get, there are many mornings when I look in the mirror and think I could use a beauty operator, in that sense.) Another funny thing to me was the name of the beauty operator my mom went to. Her name was Achsa. It was pronounced "Ax-uh". It's the only person I ever knew of named that. To me, her name was ironic for her profession. It sounded to me like she would axe your hair off. Not to mention, a beauty operator performing surgery with an ax didn't sound like a good mix to me. I'm sure that I met Achsa at some point, but I don't remember her. Mother loved her and I am sure she was wonderful. Mother always looked great when she came home from getting a perm there. Achsa died a few years before my mom at the age of 97.

Between perms, Mother would give her hair a boost by putting pin curls in it. Every saturday night, she'd wash her hair and then carefully twist small sections of hair around her finger. She'd pull her finger out of the curl and use a bobby pin to hold the section of hair down. In no time at all, she'd have all her hair pinned. She would sleep with the bobby pins in her hair and in the morning she'd pop them out and have beautifully curly hair for church.

When Achsa retired from beauty operating, Mother started going to a woman named Joanne. She had a hair salon in the basement of her house. As my mom got older and was no longer able to make it up and down the steps at Joanne's, she started going to see a hair stylist named Jeanie. Several other members of our family, including my dad had gone to Jeanie for years. It was easier for Mother to get in and out of that salon and she was still able to get her perms.

When it started to get hard for my dad to get around, Jeanie would come out to the farm to give him haircuts. I know doctors used to make house calls, but a hairstylist/barber/beauty operator? Jeanie was so sweet to do this and I no it meant the world to Mother and Daddy.

Jeanie was going to give Mother her perm in the nursing home once her pain subsided. But, the pain came back too quickly and Mother ended up in hospice. I kept thinking that Mother would hate the way her straight hair looked at her funeral. I know it's kind of a weird thing to worry about, but you think of all kinds of weird things when you watch your loved one dying.

When we met with Jeff (the funeral director) after Mother died, we told him how Mother had wanted a perm. Jeff said he was sure that Jeanie would do Mother's hair for her one last time. She did a fabulous job. Mother's hair looked beautiful. It was no longer the straight hair that she disliked. It had soft curls and looked wonderful. I know that Mother would have been very happy. Her only disappointment would have been not being able to tell Jeanie how much it meant to her. Don't worry, Mother, we told her for you.

Summer Nights

We have been busy running our kids to softball and baseball practices and games in the past several weeks. Every Monday through Thursday there is at least one game. With three kids, Eric and I are out-numbered, and figuring out a plan to get each kid where they need to be becomes a challenge at times. Trying to schedule a time for us to eat supper together as a family is difficult too. I know our family is not the only one in this situation. And the fun of watching our kids play ball is well worth all the running and we do.

It sure is different than what summer nights were like growing up on the farm. As farm kids, we never played any sports during the summer (or any time of year for that matter). During haying season, we would unload hay well into evening chore time. This pushed chores back later, which in turn pushed supper even later. There were many summer nights when we ate supper at 8:30 or 9:00 pm. I'm sure my mom never knew what time to have supper ready.

I do see some things from the summer nights of my childhood have carried over into the summer nights of our kids lives. Our kids join in with the neighbors to play Capture the Flag or Night Games. When we were kids, we Betz kids loved to play Hope To See The Ghost Tonight when it got dark outside. I can still hear, "One o'clock, two o'clock....midnight, moonlight, starlight, hope to see the ghost tonight." There were many dark and spooky places to hide on the farm. Just thinking about it makes my heart beat a little faster. Another favorite game of ours was one that most people call Kick The Can. The Betz kids were a bit more creative in their name for this game. I'm not sure where our original name of Tippy, Tippy, Tin Can came from, but I know that after calling it that for quite some time, we changed the name. One night, the can we used for the game was a baked bean can. Someone (I think Charlie) then changed the name of the game to Tippy, Tippy, Fart Can! That name stuck for the rest of childhood.

As we played these games, Mother and Daddy would often sit on the front step of the house with a huge bowl of popcorn. Of course this was before the time of microwave popcorn (or even microwaves) or air poppers. We made the popcorn the old fashioned way: a pan on the stove with oil and popcorn kernals. You covered the pan and as soon as you heard a kernal pop, you shook the pan like crazy until all popping stopped. Then of course we drenched the popcorn with melted butter and salt. Yum!

The nights of playing games and having popcorn on the front steps are some of my favorite childhood memories. In my mind, we did this almost every night. When I think back realistically, I know that it probably wasn't nearly that often. Perhaps this shows how much those nights meant to me.

Sunday nights in the summer were different. After supper, Mother and Daddy loved to go for their Sunday evening drive. I remember Mike and I loved to tag along. Honestly, we hated the actual drive part. We had an ulterior motive: the root beer stand. Mike and I would sit in the back seat of the car and complain about how long the ride was taking. Dusty gravel roads that went by the farms of people we didn't know held no interest for us. But the possibility of getting root beer was worth the agony of enduring the Sunday evening drive. The A&W Root Beer Stand stood where the Kwik Trip in Caledonia now stands. A couple times during each summer, Mother and Daddy would take us there for supper. Maybe we led a sheltered childhood or maybe things were just different back then, but to us supper at the rootbeer stand was a treat. We'd park the car right next to a board that had the menu listed. When we were ready to order, we pushed a button that turned on a light on our board. That magically made our waitress appear to take our order. After much complaining that our food was taking forever, the same waitress would carry out a tray with our food and drinks. She would hang it on the driver's window of the car. Our drinks came in A&W mugs made of real glass. I remember when we actually ate supper there, I always ordered the orange drink. When we were done eating, we pushed another button on the menu board which alerted the waitress to come and pick up our tray. What clever inventions the 1970's had.

But on Sunday evening drives, it was root beer we craved. It always seemed that near the end of the drive, our car always approached Caledonia. When we were a couple blocks aways from the root beer stand, Mike and I would start saying, "Blink, blink, blink, blink....." This was our way of letting Mother and Daddy know that we would really like to stop for root beer, so they should start signaling their intent to turn into the root beer stand. As if they didn't already know that was the only reason we even rode along with them. I don't remember them ever not stopping, but still, each time it seemed like a real possibility that they wouldn't. The best part of getting root beer on those Sunday nights was the amount we got. On those nights, we didn't use the outdoor menu board and get glasses of root beer. Instead, Mother or Daddy would go inside with a glass gallon bottle and have it filled. We would then take it back to the farm where everyone enjoyed a glass of root beer or even a root beer float. There was one Sunday night root beer run that I will never forget. As we walked in the door of the farm house, someone set the gallon full of root beer on the counter. As soon as it touched the counter, the bottle shattered. Sticky root beer and glass covered the counter and floor. It appeared our night was ruined. But never fear, someone was sent back to A&W to get another gallon while the rest of us stayed home and cleaned up the sticky mess. As I recall, the root beer stand gave us a free gallon of root beer and told us that we should open the bottle slightly in the car to let some of the pressure escape. They thought the pressure caused the bottle to burst when it touched the counter. It seems to me that shortly after that, we started getting our root beer in plastic bottles.

As an adult, whenever I've looked back and remembered those Sunday evening drives, I always think that Mike and I must have annoyed the heck out of Mother and Daddy with our insistent "blink, blink, blink". But this time, another thought ocurred to me. Maybe they took us along on the ride so that they had an excuse to stop at the A&W.  Maybe the root beer stand was their plan all along. Maybe they loved root beer as much as we did. Maybe they would have turned into the root beer stand even without our subtle hint of "blink, blink, blink."

These days, our kids beg for us to take them to Dairy Queen or other ice cream shops. Maybe we'll have to take a Sunday evening drive and buy some root beer. Maybe after that they can play a game of Tippy, Tippy Fart Can.

Solstice

Yesterday was the summer solstice, sometimes referred to as longest day of the year, because it is the day we experience the most daylight during the year. That got me thinking. In 2011, the summer solstice was on June 21. On the 19th, when Mother died, the total time of daylight was 15 hours, 36 minutes and 46 seconds. This is only 8 seconds less daylight than we had on the summer solstice. When Mother died, it hit me that the date was Danielle's half birthday. Dani was born on Dec 19, 1996. In 1996, the winter solstice, or shortest day of the year was Dec 21. The day Danielle was born, we only had 8 hours, 46 minutes and 16 seconds of daylight. This was only 8 seconds more than the winter solstice.

It is quite ironic to me that Danielle was born just shy of the shortest day of the year and Mother died just shy of the longest day of the year. It seems it should have been the other way around. Try telling a woman (me) who was in labor for 35 hours and then ended up having a c-section that it's the shortest day of the year. No matter how little daylight there was that day (or rather days), it was anything but the shortest day for me. All I wanted was to finally meet my baby. (Well, that and to have the pain of labor end!)  In the same sense, tell a woman (me again) whose mother is dying, that because it's the summer solstice, it is the longest day of the year. When you know that every second counts and every breath could be her last, it feels like the day is speeding by. Her sunset was coming all too fast, regardless of how much daylight there was that day.

Now in reality, I know that there are 24 hours in day, every day, regardless of the amount of daylight. I looked up the word solstice and what I found intrigued me. The word comes from the combination of two Latin words that basically mean "sun" and "stand still". Here is what I read: "For a few days before and after the solstice the change in position of the sunrise is so slight that the sun appears to stop or stand still for a few days..."

For a brand new mom looking at her baby, time does seem to stand still. It is a moment so incredible, so breath taking that everything else around you fades into the background. All you can focus on is that little miraculous bundle. Even if there was less daylight that day than on any other day of the year, it made no difference to me. There could be no sunlight brighter than looking at my sweet little baby.

In the same way and yet so incredibly different, time also seems to stand still when you lose a loved one. When Mother died, nothing else mattered. I couldn't focus on anything beyond the devastating loss I felt. The daily routine around me faded into the background. No matter how many hours of daylight there were, I was consumed in the darkness of grief. I remember for weeks, maybe months, after Mother's death that I could be outside in the sunshine and yet nothing appeared as bright to me as usual.

Still, there are 24 hours in a day. The sun shines as brightly as ever. I know it is all about perspective, all about how I choose to look at things. Instead of thinking about what I lost the day Mother died, I should focus on what she gained. Then it makes more sense that she died near the summer solstice. Her soul is in Heaven for eternity, where God's light is never ending. Maybe instead of referring to June 19, 2011 as Mother's death date, I should call that day her "summer soul-stice".

Heaven Is For Real

Today marks one year since Mother's death. I love her and miss her as much as ever.

After my dad died, my sisters, my mom and I all read several books about the experiences of the dying. One was called Final Gifts and was written by hospice nurses. They told many incredible true life stories of the things hospice patients said and did in their final days. Often times, the dying patients spoke of seeing loved ones who had gone before them. We also read 90 minutes in Heaven, written by a man who died in a car accident but was revived again. Just a few months before my mom got sick, we all read the book Heaven is For Real. It is written by the father of a 4 year old boy who experienced Heaven during an emergency surgery. Months later he began telling his experience to his parents. He spoke of things that happened while he was in surgery...things that were impossible for him to know. He spoke of meeting a sister that his mom had miscarried...something he knew nothing about prior to his surgery. Most incredible was that he told of meeting Jesus and he remembered what he looked like. No matter what picture of Jesus his parents showed him, he said that was not the Jesus he had met. Then one day, the parents saw a picture of Jesus that had been drawn by another young child who also experienced Heaven. When shown this picture, the little boy immediately identified the man as the Jesus he had met in Heaven.

While Mother was in hospice, I longed to catch a glimpse of Heaven through her. At one point when she was sleeping, it was obvious to me that she was dreaming. When she awoke I asked if she had seen anyone in her dream. She told me "Yes, two people." When I asked her who they were she told me she couldn't remember. She then drifted of again. When she awoke again, I asked if she had seen the people again. She said yes. This time when I asked who they were, she responded, "Mike." Finally, I thought I was getting that glimpse I'd been looking for. Growing up, Mother had a favorite uncle...her Uncle Mike. Surely he'd be there waiting for her when she got to Heaven. Had she really seen him? Then remembering that she said she'd seen two people, I asked her who the other one was. She looked at me and said, "You". It then hit me that the "Mike" she had referred to was my brother Mike (named after her uncle). Mike and I were sitting on either side of her bed. I just had to chuckle to myself. I had been so intent on her giving me a glimpse of Heaven, that I had jumped to the conclusion of who she had seen in her dream. My first thought was, "I can't wait to tell her about this when we get back home from here. She is going to laugh about it." Then it hit me that I would never have that opportunity as she wouldn't be going home again.

I did ask Mother many times while in hospice if she'd seen Daddy yet. She always said, "No". My niece Alyssa (then 17) and I ran out to get lunch one day during Mother's final days. Alyssa told me that she had a theory on why Grandma always responded "No" to that question. She also said that if her theory was correct, Grandma would never tell us that she had seen him. Alyssa's thought was that once Grandma saw Grandpa, she would run to him and never look back, not even to tell us that she saw him. I told her she might be right. That still didn't stop me from continuing to ask Mother if she'd seen Daddy yet. Even a few hours before she died, I asked her. Her response was the same as every other time I asked, "No".

A few hours before my mom died, all of our family left her room so the nurses could bathe her. From all the books I'd read, it should have been obvious to me that she would choose that time to begin her final exit. Many times, hospice patients wait until their loved ones are out of the room, trying to protect them from the pain of witnessing their death. As soon as the nurses were done bathing Mother, we went back into her room. Immediately, Jo and I noticed that something was different. Mother's breathing had changed, and she just looked different. She was no longer alert. The nurses weren't immediately convinced that anything had changed. One later told me that although she didn't see the changes right away, she knew Jo and I were "in tune" to Mother and quickly realized we were right.

All of Mother's kids had seen her in the last 24 hours. Still, the three of us there at the time started making phone calls to the others that things were progressing rapidly. We gathered close around her bed and held her hands. I repeated her favorite bible verse to her: "Surely God is my salvation. I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord is my strength and my song. He has become my salvation." I told her that we'd be ok and take care of each other. I assured her that Lauren would be ok. I told her that her other children and some of her grandchildren were on their way. I also told her that if God and Daddy needed her before the rest of the family got there, it was ok to go. I talked to her until the end. Shortly before her death, the left side of her mouth curved up into an obvious smile, not once but twice. Everyone in the room noticed it. Then she was gone. To me it was obvious that those smiles meant she'd finally seen Daddy and Jesus. Alyssa was right. Mother never told us that she'd seen Daddy. Once she saw him, she ran to him and never looked back. But she smiled twice. And that was all the glimpse of Heaven I needed to know for sure that Heaven is For Real.

There is a song by Matthew West on the Christian music station I listen to brings me to tears every time I hear it. Mother, until I see you again, Save a Place For Me.


"Save A Place For Me"

Don't be mad if I cry
It just hurts so bad sometimes
'Cause everyday it's sinking in
And I have to say goodbye all over again

You know I bet it feels good
To have the weight of this world
Off Your shoulders now
I'm dreaming of the day
When I'm finally there with You

Save a place for me, save a place for me
I'll be there soon, I'll be there soon
Save a place for me, save some grace for me
I'll be there soon, I'll be there soon

I have asked the questions why
But I guess the answer's for another time
So instead I'll pray with every tear
And be thankful for the time I had You here

So You just save a place for me, save a place for me
I'll be there soon, I'll be there soon
Save a place for me, save some grace for me
I'll be there soon, I'll be there

I wanna live my life just like You did
And make the most of my time just like You did
And I wanna make my home up in the sky
Just like You did, oh, but until I get there
Until I get there

Just save a place for me, save a place for me
'Cause I will be there soon

Save a place for me, save a place for me
I'll be there soon, I'll be there soon

Don't be mad if I cry
It just hurts so bad.

Things I've Learned Since Losing My Parents

*No matter your age, you will feel like an orphan when both of your parents are gone.

*Life goes on and the world keeps spinning when you lose a loved one, even though there are many           times you wish they wouldn't.

*The old phrases your parents said, will now bring a smile to your face when you hear them escape your own lips.

*Love isn't found in material things, it is found within and between people.

*When you are dying, you won't think about your job, your car, how clean your house was or how much   money you made in your lifetime. You will think of the people who touched your life and will hope that you touched people's lives as well.

*When you lose your mother, it feels as though a part of your very childhood has been lost.

*God is everywhere, you just have to open your eyes to see what He is showing you.

*When you lose your parents, you develop a need to keep their memory alive.

*You find joy (even if tears get mixed in) when someone mentions your lost loved one.

*You will reach for the phone or think "I can't wait to tell Mother/Daddy about that", and then be  shocked back into reality at the remembrance that they are gone.

*Many who have not yet lost a parent, will seem uncomfortable around you. Whether this is real or perceived on your part, remind yourself to be happy for them that they don't understand your loss. And be there for them down the road when they do understand it.

*You will always wish you'd asked your parents more questions about when they were young.

*You can never say "I love you" too many times.

*There are angels who walk among us every day.

*There is no time limit on grief.

*Grief is a process, a journey that is different for everyone.

*When you become a mother, you will play that role for the rest of your life.

*The truly great people in life rarely see themselves that way.

*Dying is a fascinating process…except for the end result.

*When I listen closely, I can hear my mom giving me advice about whatever is troubling me.

*A simple grocery list in my mom’s handwriting can bring me to tears.

*The little everyday things in life are the ones you will remember and treasure the most.

*Just as I didn’t know as much at 16 as I do now, I don’t know as much now as I will at 80.

*No matter how long you have your parents in your life, it is never long enough.

*Perspective makes all the difference..

*Your parents live on in you when they are gone.

*My mom was right when she said that the older you get, the faster the years seem to go.

*Hindsight is 20/20, but Godsight has a clarity that human eyes are not capable of seeing.

*At the end of your life, it’s people, not things, that matter.

*God does work in mysterious ways.

*It's ok to laugh in the midst of grieving.

*Everything changes when you lose your mother.

*There are worse things than experiencing grief yourself. Watching your parent grieve and watching  your child grieve are two of them.

*The price one pays for having wonderfully loving parents is tremendous grief when they are gone. But it is well worth the cost.

*The idea of my own death is much less frightening, now that I know Mother and Daddy will be waiting to greet me at Heaven’s gate.

*A spoonful of maple nut ice cream will forever bring back memories of my mom.

*Never underestimate what a difference your simple act of kindness can make in someone's life.

*My parents weren't perfect, but they were the perfect parents for me.

*I will forever miss Mother and Daddy, until I see them again. And I am confident that I will see them again.

*I need to keep writing my feelings and my memories. It's cheaper than a therapist.

The Best Father's Day Gift

I can only remember one Father's Day gift I gave to Daddy when I was a child. Our elementary teachers always had us make Mother's Day presents for our moms, and one year one of them had us make Father's Day gifts before the end of the school year. I don't remember which teacher it was and I don't mean to insult whoever it was, but it was a pretty lame gift. We took 2 paper plates and cut the centers out of them. Then we glued the two plates together, facing each other. Next we took different colors of yarn and wrapped them around the plates, outside to center, outside to center, all around the plate. I know mine sported about 10 different colors of yarn. Any guesses as to what this fabulous present was? Give up? It was a tie rack of course! It was hideous. At least mine was. I remember making it, but honestly don't remember Daddy's reaction to it. But his ties always were kept in his dresser drawer, so I don't think the fabulous tie rack I made him was ever used. In case you are wondering, I am not in the least bit offended.

On the first Father's Day after Daddy died, I received a Father's Day gift. Understandably, I was feeling a bit down that day. That morning, Lauren came to me and told me that she'd had a dream shortly after Grandpa died and she just remembered it and wanted to tell me about it. She went on to say that in her dream, we were all in the kitchen at the farm and Grandpa was there. He was able to walk better than Lauren had ever seen him walk in her life...no walker or cane to help him. And she described in detail to me what he was wearing: a tan fishing hat with lures on it, a tan shirt and blue pants. She said that she asked Grandpa what his job in Heaven was and he never really told her, but she assumed from the way he was dressed that his job was fishing. He talked to everyone and said he couldn't stay long. He talked to Grandma last and then left through the kitchen door. I was so touched by her recollection of the dream and by the fact that Father's Day was the day she remembered to tell me. She still remembers the details of her dream today. I'm pretty certain that was the one and only Father's Day gift I will ever receive. And I will cherish it forever.

Father's Day 2011, was on June 19. Eric was at home with our kids. I talked with Danielle on the phone and told her to tell Eric what we had in mind to get him for Father's Day. I'd been a little preoccupied to actually get the kids out to buy the gift. Eric got the kids to church that morning and got Danielle sent off on her mission trip to Rockford, Illinois. We knew that it was likely that Mother would die before Dani's week long mission trip was over. But she really wanted to go and had said her good-byes to Grandma. We figured being with other kids and leaders from church was a great place for her to be. We also had talked to the leaders about it and they'd wonderfully agreed to meet Eric part way if we needed to get Dani home for a funeral before the week was up. What I didn't anticipate was that Grandma would be gone before Dani ever made it to Rockford. I remember being pretty strong when I talked to both Eric and my brother Charlie on the phone to let them know Mother was gone. But leaving the message for mission trip leader, Matt, brought me to tears. From what I heard later, Dani handled the news pretty well and it helped for her to be surrounded by her friends.

After Mother died, several of us kids (at different times and without knowing another had already said the same thing) commented that Daddy had just gotten the best Father's Day gift ever. He had gotten Mother back again. That thought made the pain of losing her a little more bearable for us. I can guarantee that he liked that Father's Day gift better than the yarn wrapped, paper plate tie rack I'd given him years before.

Happy 3rd Father's Day in Heaven Daddy! I hope you have a great day of fishing.

Birthday Gifts

June 16, 2011 was my niece Kelly's 21st birthday. Kelly was worried that Grandma would die on her birthday. Grandma's health had declined significantly in the last few days and we knew she wouldn't be with us much longer. As you know, my mom was a leap day baby. In 2012, Grandma and Kelly both would have turned 22.

I remember Jo talking to Kelly via cell phone. I yelled "Happy Birthday" so that Kelly would hear it. Grandma then also said, "Happy Birthday" to Kelly. Later in the day, Kelly and Jeff (her then boyfriend, now fiance) stopped to see Grandma. Grandma was able to tell Kelly "Happy Birthday" and "I love you" in person. I knew it was something Kelly would treasure forever.

As evening came that day, I thought about how we were worried that Grandma would die on Kelly's birthday. It occurred to me that Grandma would fight with ever ounce of her being not to die that day. She and Kelly had a wonderful bond and Grandma wouldn't want her to have the memory of her dying that day. I just knew we were "safe", at least until the clock struck midnight and it was a new day.

Kelly just posted about this on facebook and it made me smile. Here is what she wrote about her 21st birthday"

I wasn't out drinking- but I did go visit my Grandma for the last time and received the best birthday gift ever- a "Happy Birthday" and "I Love You" from her. I was looking forward to celebrating our 22nd birthdays together this year (she was a leap-day baby) but I know she will be celebrating with me from heaven.

I knew Kelly would forever remember those words Grandma said. But in reading her words, it struck me that we never know how things will go. We worried that Grandma would die on Kelly's birthday, and yet that day, Grandma gave Kelly the best present ever...one she will treasure the rest of her life.

Happy 22nd Birthday Kelly! And I know you are right that Grandma is celebrating with you today...all the way from Heaven! May you feel her love surround you today.

Talking to the End

In the little book I have where we recorded the things Mother said to us in her final days, I count 17 different things she said to us on the day she died. She started talking around 5:30 a.m. and stopped around 1:30 pm. The previous afternoon, she had also been very talkative and told Char and I about "a nice picture." We asked who was in the picture and she indicated it was her mom, two of her uncles, her aunt and herself. We had been through old family pictures many times in the months prior and had seen plenty of pictures of each of these individuals, but none of all of them together. When she made the comment about this beautiful picture, we wondered if perhaps she was seeing herself with these people who had all gone before her. At one point, she also said, "my sister." We wondered if possibly she was seeing her sister (the tubal pregnancy that her mom had when Mother was 4 years old). Our other thought was that she was referring to her good friend, Selma who was still alive. Neither Selma or Mother had any sisters. Many years earlier, the two decided that they would be sisters to each other. They raised their families just across the country road from each other. Mother also told us, "provide for Selma", so I think that is the sister she was referring to.

On the morning of her last day, she said some things that truly made me wonder if she was seeing beyond this world. At 6:35 she said, "That woman in white. To be peaceful." My thought at the time was that perhaps she had seen an angel. I still think that today. At 11:49 she told me, "I could just meet the love." That statement brought me to tears. (Of course by this point in the journey, just about anything brought me to tears.)

The reason Mother's comment about meeting the love brought me to tears was because it reminded me of something that I had heard Pastor Tim say more than once. "God is love. We come from love. We are born to love. And when we die, we return to the love." (I may not have the wording exactly right, but I think I'm close.) Mother said, "I could just meet the love." It struck me that she knew she was getting close to going to Heaven and meeting that Love...God!

There were other things that Mother said that morning that I still wonder about. At one point she said, "That girl's parents got divorced." When I asked what girl, she told me a first and last name very clearly. I had never heard the name before and neither had anyone in the family. I did end up finding the woman months later and while she attends the same church that Mother did, I really don't think they ever had any contact with each other. But Mother was right: the girl's parents are divorced.

At about 12:15, I told Mother that I loved her. Every other time I had said that, she had told me she loved me too. This time she said, "I'd rather that you be comfortable." I had no idea why she said that, but told her that I was comfortable. I've read alot about dying in the last year. I have found that the dying often need their loved ones to give them permission to die.In looking back, I am convinced that she was telling me that she needed us to be ok with her going. She needed to know that we would be ok.

At 12:40 that afternoon, while I was out of the room, Mother told Jo, "I think I can do it now. I'm satisfied." Looking back now, it seems so obvious to me that she knew she didn't have much time left.

At 1:35, she said the last thing that any of us recorded in the book. "I was listening and thinking about my mom laying there." She must have been remembering all those years ago when her own mom died.

Four hours later, Mother was gone.

June 19 will mark one year that she has been gone. It's hard to believe that much time has passed. Some days something happens and I think that I'll have to tell Mother about it. Then it hits me that she is gone. I still miss her as much ever. I know that I always will. But I am so very thankful that I had parents who are worth missing for the rest of my life.

More Than a Cleaning Lady

We met many wonderfully caring and compassionate doctors, nurses and aides while my mom was in hospice. But one of the people I remember most never had any direct contact with Mother, and yet touched our lives immensely. One morning, my sisters, Jo and Char, my sister-in-law, Rhonda, and I were standing outside my mom's room in the hospice wing of the hospital. It had been a very emotional morning and we were in tears. Down the hall came a cleaning woman, pushing her cart. As she approached us, she stopped the cart and walked up to us. She said we looked like we could use a hug and asked if she could give us one. We had never seen this woman before and yet we all welcomed her hug. She talked to us for a few minutes, although I don't remember the conversation at all.

A day or so later, it was just me and Mother in the room when this same cleaning woman came to tidy up the room. When she saw the cot that my sisters and I had been taking turns sleeping on, she asked me if it was as uncomfortable as it looked. I told her that yes it was, but with as nice as everyone had been to us, I wasn't going to complain about the comfort of the cot.  A few minutes after she left from tidying the room, I saw her outside the room, motioning for me to come out into the hall. There she stood with a nice chair that folded out into a comfortable cot. She asked if she could give us that chair and take the uncomfortable cot out of the room. I was so touched by her kindness. A few hours later, she poked her head into the room and asked if there was anything else she could do for us. We said no, but as she walked away, I quickly went into the hall and told her there was one thing I needed from her.....her name. She said it was Anita.

It is now a year later and I still think about Anita. While I remember the names of some of our favorite hospice nurses (Colleen, Cheryl and Carrie), many of the others names now escape me. But that dear cleaning lady, Anita, I will never forget. She was truly an angel. I doubt that "hugging patient's family" or "noticing and replacing uncomfortable cots" are in her job description. To her they may have seemed like little things, but to us, they were anything but little. Anita looked beyond her job and touched our hearts.

Lord, please help me to be an Anita to others.

Arrival

Following is a paragraph I wrote on a sleepless night last summer.

I imagine when a person enters Heaven, it is similar to when a baby is born here on Earth. Family and friends are preparing for the new arrival. They know the time is drawing near, but don’t know the exact moment when their loved one will appear. Just as we on earth prepare for a baby’s arrival from the moment me know it’s on the way, so do all the hosts in Heaven when word of a loved one’s impending arrival is announced. The excitement grows as the time draws closer. It seems as though the day will never arrive. Then suddenly the moment is at hand. The gates burst open and all rush forward for the long anticipated reunion. Just as on earth we marvel at a newborn’s tiny fingers and toes, so in Heaven, all are in awe of the new glorified body God has given the latest arrival. 

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

A while back, I read a quote that said “grief is like staring at a dark shadow and failing to see the abundant light behind me.”  It made me think of the verse in the 23^rd Psalm about walking through the valley of the shadow of death.

Anyone who has ever lost a loved one has walked through that valley. Yet the valley is different for everyone and for every loss.  Some valleys are short with a relatively straight path. Others are long, with many paths to choose from. Some people run quickly through the valley. Others take slow, deliberate steps. Some wander around, walking in circles. Still others sit down and stay awhile. There isn’t a right or wrong amount of time to spend there.  Sometimes you feel like you are on the right path and nearing the exit, only to find the path twists back deeply into the valley once again. Yes, each valley is different, but they each have something in common as well: shadows. That is the nature of valleys.

As we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, it isn’t the valley itself that we fear.  It’s the dark shadows that reside there that bring us pain.  After all, they are the shadows of death.  Each shadow reminds us of what we have lost. We’ve lost the one we held so dear. We’ve lost the chance to ask the questions and say the things we should have said. We’ve lost the person who could always make us laugh. We’ve lost the person who would always listen and encourage us. We’ve lost a friend or neighbor or aunt or brother or grandpa or child or mother. We’ve lost a piece of ourselves. Each shadow painfully reminds us of this.

But if we change our focus, things look differently. If we look up to the sky, we notice the reason for the dark shadows. It is the beautiful bright sun shining on the hills that casts shadows down into the valleys. It is the life we had with our loved one, the joy we had with them, the light they brought into our lives that is casting the shadow. If we hadn’t known their love, there would be no shadows now that they are gone.  But then, there never would have been the sunshine either.  There would only have been cloudy days, the days where no shadows are found. I think it is better to walk through long valleys of shadows than to never have felt the warmth of the sunshine on your face.  

The best part is to realize that this whole life really is the valley of the shadow of death.  That probably sounds depressing or even morbid, but it really isn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and family and friends. I love the beauty of nature that surrounds me. But this life has shadows. It has pain and suffering, heartache and loss. One day my focus will change. I may notice my focus slowly changing or it might happen in an instant when I least expect it. When it happens, I will look up and see the most incredible Light ever. It will be so brilliant that the sun will pale in comparison. And this Light will cast a shadow so deep and dark onto the earth that I will focus only on the Light itself. At that moment I will know that I have finally found my way out of the valley of the shadow of death.

Be Still

"Just keep still." I wonder how many times I heard Daddy say those words over the years. It was his way of reminding us that in many instances, it's better to not say anything, because if you say what's on your mind, you will later regret it. There is excellent advice in those simple words. I can still hear his voice saying it. "Just keep still." Unfortunately, I sometimes hear the words after saying something that I immediately regret. On other occasions, I remember the words in time to save myself from a guilty conscience later.

Our Heavenly Father also offers us lots of wonderful advice. My favorite bible verse is Psalm 46:10. "Be still and know that I am God." A few years ago I even bought a little pocket sized stone that had those words on it. Actually I bought two because one side of the stone had the words "Be still" and the other had the words "And know that I am God". I know that it doesn't take much effort to turn the stone over, but I sometimes need to see the whole verse at once.

On Tuesday, June 14, 2011, I picked up the prayer shawl (I previously mentioned this in another entry) from church and started my 3 hour drive to LaCrosse to spend a few days with my mom. We knew she had cancer and that the prognosis was "weeks rather than months." These drives alone had become a time of prayer and talking to God for me. There was a specific thing I'd prayed for concerning my mom for a very long time. It had nothing to do with her physical health, but rather with her peace of mind. In the past, when I'd prayed about this I often suggested to God my ideas of how to accomplish it. This day my prayer was different. I don't know if it was knowing that Mother was dying or that I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I'd like to think that I "wised up" but it may have been as simple as finally giving into the fact that I didn't have all the answers. But my prayer was simple: "God, you know what Mother needs and what is best for her. Your will be done."  And I immediately heard a response. "Be still and know that I am God." I didn't hear an actual voice saying the words, but I most definitely felt them in my heart. And I knew God was speaking to me. I should mention that in the past, I heard others say that God spoke to them and I wondered what they were smoking to think they heard God's voice. So if you think I've lost my mind, I understand. But when it happens to you, you just know. And for the record, I wasn't smoking anything or drinking anything either.

Not long after I arrived at the hospital, Mother started mentioning the situation she needed peace with. It was obvious that it was the most urgent thing on her mind. She was worried that she wouldn't get that peace "in time." I told her that the peace she wanted could only come from God. I remembered hearing the words, "Be still and know that I am God" on the drive down. God did have a  plan and things started happening. Before noon the next day, I became a firm believer that miracles still happen. I swear that I witnessed a miracle or two that morning. And it was more beautiful than any of the suggestions I had given God. Mother wasn't suddenly healed physically, but she had the peace that she needed. I asked her a few of times in her final days if she was at peace and she always said yes.

Just as I sometimes forget my earthly father's advice of  "Just keep still" until after words slip out of my mouth, I don't always seem to remember my Heavenly Father's advice to "Be still and know that I am God" until I am frustrated and ready to give up hope. But at some point the words of advice come back to me. And they bring me the peace of knowing that I don't have to have all the answers. God has a plan and things are starting to happen. And the result will be more beautiful than my own ideas. God's will be done!

Writing My Soul

I’ve heard from several of you who read my blog. Thank you for all your kind comments.  Honestly, I’m just writing my feelings. I am a thinker. Many times I over-think things to the point of dwelling on the littlest of details. Writing helps me sort all those thoughts out. There is no mystery in what I write.

At one point in my life, I thought about a career in writing. In fact, when I graduated from college, my dream job was to write Shoebox Greeting Cards. My quick wit and sarcastic sense of humor seemed like a perfect fit to me. My degree was in marketing and I also considered working in advertising, maybe writing commercials. But some how, I ended up doing collections. There wasn’t much need for my wit and sarcastic sense of humor in that job, although I may have made a few sarcastic comments after hanging up the phone from some of my collection calls. 

After I became a stay at home mom, the only writing I did was “to do” lists and grocery lists. I’d occasionally write down funny things my kids said so I could embarrass them with them years down the road. In fact, one of those funny things had to do with a grocery list. When Danielle was probably three  years old, she and I were grocery shopping. She was sitting in the grocery cart, holding my list for me. She knew that we bought whatever I had written on the list. She looked at me and said, “The list says ice cream.” I knew full well I hadn’t put ice cream on the list and that she couldn’t read. But it made me chuckle that instead of just asking me to buy ice cream, she told me it was on the list. In case you are wondering, I bought ice cream. I figured I was rewarding her creativity. And I love ice cream!

As my mom got older, she commented that she never really did a lot in her life. I didn’t understand how she could say that. I thought about all the work she did to keep our large family running. I wanted to write her something telling her how much she really had done over the years. I tried several times to sit down and write something to give her for her birthday or Mother’s Day.  I’d write a few words, but could never get the writing to come together. A couple days after she died, I knew the time was right. I sat down with paper and pen and the words just flowed out of me. I shared the tribute I wrote about her with Pastor Tim at our church. He told me that it was beautiful. He also said that my soul needed to be written and that I should listen to it and write it. I wasn't quite sure what he meant or how to go about it. It had taken me years to write that tribute. Well, maybe it was years of trying and about a half an hour of actual writing.  The thought of trying to write anything else seemed like more than my grieving heart could handle. Yet, on those sleepless nights, when thoughts were racing through my mind and I was reliving Mother’s last days, I decided to jot down some of them. Usually it was just a word or two. But by writing it down, it was as though I was giving myself permission to put the thought aside until a time when I could better deal with it. I’m not even sure I saw it that way at the time, but looking back, it is obvious to me that is what I was doing. Other times, my emotions formed  sentences and paragraphs that flowed onto the paper.  Perhaps that was my soul writing itself. As the one year anniversary of Mother entering the nursing home approached, I knew the time was right to do more writing. Why I decided to write it in a blog is a bit of a mystery to me.  It really is out of character for me to put myself "out there" like that.

Another strange thing is that when I started writing, my intent was to write about my mom. I didn’t intend to write a lot about God and my faith. Even though Pastor Tim told me that my soul needed to be written, I didn’t think that necessarily meant writing about my faith. But it just happened. I saw things happen with my mom and God’s presence was obvious.  At times there was no denying that His fingerprints were on the way things came together.  It is impossible for me to describe, other than to say that I just knew.  When you have an experience and know God is involved, it’s nearly impossible to keep it to yourself.  There is an amazement and comfort so powerful that you feel a need to share it.

I miss my parents terribly, especially my mom since her death is more recent. But my faith has been strengthened from the experiences I had during their illnesses, deaths and since then.  I know that Mother and Daddy would be happy to know that my faith has grown. Nothing would please them more.

Thanks again for reading along and going on this journey with me.  I know the next couple of weeks will be very emotional ones for me. Yesterday was the last day of school for my kids. We made our annual last day of school trip to Dairy Queen. As the kids sat eating their ice cream and chatting with friends, I found myself remembering our trip there a year ago. I remembered the table we sat at last year. I remembered the fear I had of how my mom’s test results would come back. I remembered that the next morning I heard the word cancer and that two weeks later we buried her.  But I also remembered that God had answered my prayer of not hearing bad news before school was out. I remembered that I was able to spend Mother’s final days with her. I remembered that God was there with us and continues to be. While the next weeks will be emotional, I will get through them. And in the process, it’s likely that my soul will pour out onto the keyboard. Now that I’ve started writing my soul, I’m not sure I can stop.

Twenty Years

Twenty years ago today, on June 6, 1992, Eric and I got married. I should probably start with how we met. It was in January of 1990 in the lingerie department at JC Penney in Rochester, MN. Yes, you read it right: We met in the lingerie department. I could stop there and let your imagination run wild, but I'll explain. I was living in Rochester and working a temporary job in the mortgage company where my sister, Kathy worked. On the same floor of the building, but working for a different company, was a guy named Scott. Our receptionist wanted to set me up with Scott. Scott told her that he had a girlfriend, but told me he had a brother that was my age. I heard about this brother for months, but never met him. One day, several months later, after my temp job had ended, I stopped by the office to go to lunch with Kathy. I ran into Scott and he asked where I was working. I told him I was at JC Penney. A few nights later when I was working, in walked Scott with the brother I'd heard about. So that is how I met Eric in the lingerie department. I will be totally honest and tell you that when I went home from work that night, I told my roommate that I'd finally met Eric. I went on to say that I was sure we had nothing in common, but if he asked me out, I'd go because it would be a free night out. (Of course I now like to say that I've been paying ever since!) Eric came back into Penney's a few days later and basically asked me out in front of my boss and the store manager. He didn't know who they were and I pretty much just quickly said yes to get rid of him before I got in trouble with my boss.

On our first date, Eric picked me up in his dad's car. We went out for a drink and in talking with him, I found that we had more in common than I thought. We also went to Silver Lake to feed the geese, but they were afraid of us. On our second date he brought his own car. Apparently he didn't feel a need to impress me any more! He drove a little orange, poorly running Datsun, that my roommate and I quickly dubbed The Pumpkin Car. We joked about how that whole car could fit on the hood of the LTD II that I drove. This morning I was looking through things from our wedding and came across some things from when we dated. I found a bar napkin with directions to his parents house. I vaguely remember him giving that to me and inviting me to a party he was throwing when his parents were out of town.

After about a year and a half of dating, Eric proposed. We had talked about marriage and I had told him that if he proposed, I wanted him to have a ring when he popped the question. But he also knew I'd want to help pick out the ring. So on Labor Day weekend of 1991, he pulled out a ring and asked me to marry him. He quickly explained that this was "A ring" not "THE ring". He had borrowed a cubic zirconium ring from his sister in law, Noreen so that he "A ring". After I said yes, I asked if I had to actually wear that ring! He said no and we quickly went shopping for "THE ring." After we got the real ring, we went down by the Mississippi River in St. Paul and he proposed to me as a thunderstorm was rolling in. Our families were happy for us, and no one was surprised that we'd gotten engaged.

In looking through things this morning, I found a little swatch of fabric that Mother had sent me of the outfit she found to wear to our wedding. I also found the handkerchief she gave me to carry on my wedding day. It now has a few fresh tears on it. One of the most precious things I found was a letter that Mother gave me on the morning of my wedding day. In it she told me how much she and Daddy loved me and how proud of me they were. She told me that they were so happy for Eric and I and wished us many years of love, health and happiness. The letter also talked about how pleased they were with the young man I was marrying and how they felt they were giving him one of their best. This letter could have something to do with the fresh tears on the handkerchief.

Caledonia is a small town and 20 years ago, the only place to stay was the Crest Motel. It was nothing fancy, but it was adequate for the wedding guests. The only problem was that the farmer directly behind the motel decided to empty his slurry tank just before our wedding weekend. For those not familiar with farming, the slurry tank holds liquid manure and when it is emptied, the smell is undeniable. I found it funny that Eric brought his tux out to my parents' farm so that it wouldn't smell like manure. All these years later, people still talk about the smell at the motel.

When I left the farm for the wedding, I dropped something as I was getting in the car. I hadn't gotten far up the road when I realized I had dropped it (although today I don't remember what it even was). I quickly turned around and drove back in the driveway. As I pulled up to the house, I saw Daddy standing there. I jumped out of the car and said, "I changed my mind!" He never missed a beat and replied, "You'd be a damn fool if you did!" I guess he approved of Eric!

I had both Mother and Daddy walk me down the aisle. As I think back now, I wonder if anyone walked my mom down the aisle on her wedding day. Her parents were both gone by then. I wish I had asked her. Maybe one of my siblings will know.

Our wedding was at St. John's in Caledonia. It was a very traditional wedding in a WELS church. The word "obey" was in my vows. I didn't actually have to say the word, just agree to it. I tell people that I crossed my fingers when I said yes to that, so it doesn't count. The wedding went smoothly and we were soon husband and wife. We were then off to Good Times for our reception. We still frequent Good Times when we are down that way, but I don't think I've been in the basement portion since our reception.

Twenty years seems like a long time. The time does fly past. I'm sure it didn't seem to Mother and Daddy that they could have really been married for 63 years. I don't really remember celebrating their 25th anniversary as I was pretty little, but there is a picture to prove we did. I remember we had a party for them on their 40th. As their 50th anniversary was approaching, I remember my dad making comments about himself not making it that long. (This was nothing new for my dad to talk like that.) My mom told him that he better be there, because she was planning to make it! For their 50th, all Mother and Daddy wanted was for all of us to go with them to church and then go back to the farm for a meal together.

My mom wrote each of us (including grand kids and sons and daughters in law) a beautiful letter that she gave us on their golden anniversary. I found both mine and Eric's today. I smiled when I read Eric's. My mom told him they couldn't have asked for a better son-in-law. She said they considered him more son than in law. How very sweet and also true. I always teased them that they loved Eric more than they loved me. (Another blog entry for another day.) In my letter, my mom told me again how much she loved Eric and me and how she knew they could count on us for anything. She also mentioned something that I didn't remember being in the letter. She wrote about that day when I was little and went upstairs in the morning looking for her and she was in the bed next to mine. I wrote the poem "Mama's Gone" about that experience. I'm not sure I saw much more of what was in the letter after I read that. The tears were clouding my vision a little. Eric and I didn't have any of our kids yet when Mother and Daddy celebrated their 50th. But when each of them was born, Grandma sent them each their own special letter. What treasures they are now.  

I learned a lot about marriage by watching my parents. They loved each other and it showed. They rarely had the chance to be alone with all of us kids around. They didn't give each other extravagant gifts. But they took their vows seriously. They experienced better and worse. They experienced sickness and health. They experienced richer and poorer. But the true richness they had was a love for each other. A love that never ended. One of the things that my mom said to me on her last day was, "I love him." When I asked who, she said, "Daddy". (They called each other Mama and Daddy most of the time.) I told her that he loved her too and she said, "I know he did." I told her that he still did and that he was just loving her from Heaven now. In those hours before her death, she was thinking of the love of her life. I'm pretty certain that he was waiting for her to join him so he could show her all the glory of Heaven.

I just looked back at the letter my mom gave me on their 50^th anniversary. She ended it by saying that Daddy had given her a Christmas card the year before they got married. After all those years, she still remembered the verse and said it expressed her love for her family:

I love you Dear

I always will

With a love that faileth never.
I wish you everything that’s best.

Today Dear and forever.

That was the way they lived their marriage, with an ever enduring love for one another and for their family. May we all love like that.

My parents were right that I chose a nice young man for my husband. We have experienced some of life's greatest joys together. We've also experienced great heartaches together. But the key is that we've experienced them together. Even on the days when we drive each other crazy, we know that together is where we are happiest. I am glad that I was only joking when I told my dad that I'd changed my mind about marrying Eric. Because my dad was right: I would have been a damn fool if I had. Happy 20^th Anniversary to the love of my life, Eric.

And since I mentioned in an earlier blog post that we got married on my sister, Linda’s 40^th birthday, I have to add one more thing.  Happy 60^th Birthday Linda!

First Love

I will never get over my first love.

Though I’ve been happily married for years,

There is another for whom my heart still yearns.

The one who first held my hand,

Gave me my first kiss.

The first one to say, “I love you”,

Who cherished me always,

Saw only the best in me.

The one who encouraged me to

Discover myself,

Yet was always there for me.

The one who I could always turn to,

Could always run back to.

The one who taught me the meaning of love

Through living, not mere words.

The one who loved me before we ever met.

The one I long to meet again.

I will never get over my first love,

My Mother.

A Step Ahead

Growing up, I went to St. John’s Lutheran Church in Caledonia. There, as students were confirmed, each chose or was assigned a bible verse. My verse was John 15:5 "I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing."

As each of his grandchildren were confirmed, my dad started a new tradition. He would make a beautiful wooden plaque with a cross on it. He then would have the local jeweler engrave their confirmation verse on a thin piece of metal and attach it to the plaque.  As my dad got older, he knew it was unlikely that he would live to see all his grandchildren confirmed. Still, he wanted the tradition to continue, so he made sure that he had enough wooden plaques made ahead of time. He told my mom that if he died first, she needed to get the verses engraved on the plaques and make sure they were given to the grandkids on their confirmation days.

After my dad died, my mom told me many times that I needed to have my kids pick their confirmation verses. I mentioned it to Danielle, but it seemed much too soon to expect Lauren and Evan to pick theirs. Every time I saw Mother, she would ask me if they had picked their verses yet. In Early 2011, Danielle found the verse that she liked. It is Psalm 55:22 “Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous fall."

I received an e-mail from Jo one day that the local jeweler was retiring so I should make sure Evan and Lauren picked their verses as well. When I asked Lauren and Evan what verses they would like, they had no ideas. I teased them that if they didn't choose verses, then one of them would get John 11:35 "Jesus wept."  Evan asked what Grandpa’s favorite verse had been. Lauren asked what Grandma’s favorite verse was. They wanted those verses. I didn’t know the answers so asked my mom. She thought Grandpa’s was John 14:6 “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but through Me.”  My dad had this verse hung up in his work shop. Mother told me that her favorite verse was Isaiah 12:2 “Surely God is my salvation. I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord is my strength and my song. He has become my salvation."

It wasn’t much longer until my mom was in the nursing home and then the hospital. When we went down to see her the weekend she was diagnosed with cancer, I took my bible with me. On that Saturday while I was visiting her, I told her that I had brought my bible along and was writing down my kids' confirmation verses to give to Jo. Even though the jeweler was retired, he had told Jo that he would still do the engraving for the plaques. I read Danielle’s verse to Mother. She liked it. As I found Evan’s verse, which was Grandpa’s favorite, I told my mom that I noticed the verse was in the same chapter as the verse that Daddy’s funeral sermon had been based on…."In my Father’s house are many mansions…" After I said that, she told me that she wanted her funeral sermon to be based on her favorite verse, the one Lauren had chosen for her confirmation verse. I was surprised as she had not mentioned to me that she thought or knew she was dying. I forced myself to keep the tears inside, and simply told her, "OK." Even then, I had no idea just how soon her funeral would be.

The first time that Pastor Wolff visited Mother in hospice, he read Psalm 23 to my mom before he left. My mom was drifting in and out of sleep at that point, but I just broke down in tears hearing that old familiar Psalm. Not so many weeks before, one of the pastors at my current church had done a sermon based on that Psalm. I had found that sermon to be very interesting and it all came rushing back to me now. The part of Pastor Tim’s sermon that I had most been fascinated by was the meaning of “He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” He said that shepherds would go ahead of their flocks up to the tablelands to be sure there were no predators that would harm the sheep when they arrived. He said that just like the shepherds, God was always a step or two ahead of us, preparing the way, making it safe for us. While I had always loved the beauty of the 23rd Psalm, I had never thought too much about those specific words before. Now, the meaning of them brought me great comfort. In the days to come, I told Mother that those words meant God was already a step ahead of her. God’s timing had been perfect in other things in her life and she agreed that was true. I told her that God had a plan for her. He was ahead of her and and was already in the place where He was leading her.

When Pastor Wolff left my mom’s room that day after he read Psalm 23, I followed him in to the hall and talked with him. I told him that Mother had told me what verse she wanted her funeral sermon to be based on when the time came. He told me that he already knew that was her favorite verse and that he would make sure that when the time came, the verse would be used for her funeral. The next time that he came to visit Mother in hospice, he read that verse (Isaiah 12:2) to her and talked about it's meaning. I repeated the verse to her many times over the next days. When she seemed agitated I would tell her, “Surely God is my salvation. I will trust and not be afraid.” I was telling myself the same thing. I knew we were losing Mother and it scared me to think of life without her. But if I expected her to trust and not be afraid, then I better as well. In her final hour, I repeated the verse to her several times.  And while I was sad and heartbroken when she died, I was also at peace. I trusted that God knew what he was doing. He was one step ahead of her. The way was safe. There were no predators. The Lord was her shepherd, her strength and her salvation. He had led her Home. There was no reason for me to be afraid. There was no reason to despair. He had a plan for me as well and was already a step ahead of me. But I also knew it was alright for me to be sad and to mourn. After all, even Jesus wept.

Danielle will be confirmed next October. Not too long ago, she asked me what would happen with  her confirmation plaque, since Grandma was no longer with us. I told her that she would receive it on her confirmation day. It warmed my heart to know that she was thinking about it. I know she will treasure it. I also know that as each of my kids are confirmed and receive their plaques, I will feel a little tug in my heart since Grandpa and Grandma won't be there. But I also know I will feel a little hug from Heaven as I remember that Grandpa and Grandma thought ahead and made sure that they would in fact be a part of all of their grandkids confirmation days. I guess they were a step ahead of me too.