In life or death we belong to the Lord

The day after my last posting, my Mom and I learned from her oncologist that the chemo she had been taking since December to inhibit the metastasized breast cancer that had spread to her liver, was no longer holding it at bay. We suspected the same. Month after month, her already frail body was collapsing from the cancer's reign in her bones, her breath was shortening, her memory was escaping her, and she was tired. On August 5 she stopped the chemo. On August 7, Hospice joined our family. On August 15 she moved to Hospice House. And on August 18, she went to be with the Lord. Peacefully, painlessly, finally. She was 89 and fought the good fight.

I'd like to say I was prepared for this, being a pastor and all, and knowing Mom had lived a long and full life, loving people, serving the Lord through the church. In my ministry, I have sat at the bedside of many in the same condition, and prayed with families preparing to say goodbye. I presided over the funerals of my husband's parents. I said the words, many, many times, "Dust to dust..." I listened to countless stories about loved ones now departed, in preparation for the funeral message and to comfort the families. I knew what was happening to her, to me, and what was to come. After all, every nano second, someone dies. It is the way of life.

But, I found myself experiencing this death as a daughter, not a pastor. Thank God. Because I did not miss one minute of the pain and loss, the weight of decisions made from day to day about her care, the embrace of friends, and the tears from family shed as we watched her slip away. I struggled with running on empty, as families do when a vigil is underway, relatives coming and going, phone calls of conversations about her love and friendship. I sat on the other side of the table making funeral plans, and realized, everyone needs to be ministered to. Even a minister. Especially this one.

I thank God for this occasion. For the tender and holy way Mom was cared for. For the reunion with Mom & Dad's friends of my childhood who came along side us. For being able to rest in the assurance that she was going to be with the Lord. For her pastor, Fr. Gar, who understood that this pastor would need him to gently lead me back to my place as daughter, and tease out my emotions. For my congregation, who gracefully suspended me from my duties and loved us with food and prayers. As it turns out, no one wanted me to miss what it means to be fully human - to come face to face with death, in all it's glory. In all it's pain and confusion. In all it's loss. In all it's hope.

Mom's home Hospice nurse was Erin. Erin has a young daughter who was telling her teacher what her mother did. "She's a nurse, " the child said. When the teacher said "How nice that is," her daughter replied, "yeah, but all my Mom's patients die." My sister asked Erin, "How do you do this? Knowing your patients always die?" Erin said with a smile, "It's like a birth to me, attending them as they transition through this life to the next."

That was the gift I received too. Watching my Mom transition from this life to the next. And like a wee baby coming into the world, this transition is not without struggle, pain, worry and wonder. But unlike a birth, I shall not be able to hold my Mom in my arms for awhile. For she is resting in the arms of Jesus now.

"In life or death, we belong to the Lord. Even at the grave, we make our song 'Hallelujah!' "

Mom, rest in His peace. I promise I will too, as I soon begin the journey of missing you.