Honored to be with my mom today, every moment holy. It’s a gift to say goodbye in this way. This will be the 7th day in a row I am getting to sit with her and visit. Part of me hates this; the other part of me wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. It is tragically sacred. She is now in hospice, in and out of reality. Alzheimer’s is stealing her brain; it’s so painful to watch. 75% of what she says is nonsensical. Then out of nowhere, she will show up again, her old self. She will tell a joke, smile widely with her eyes softened, or she will try to pinch me in the way she used to when I would say something inappropriate.
My sister and I visited today, rolling her and her new wheelchair outside into the warm sun, a gentle breeze blowing near the lake. We sang her favorite old hymns, “Great is Thy Faithfulness, “It is Well With My Soul”, “How Great Thou Art”, and “Come Thou Fount.” I was transported back to the early nineties, when we would sing these songs at Faith Bible Church. Yet, today felt different. This time felt sacred. I get to sing these prayers with my mom, possibly for the last time. She acted as if she were conducting a chorus of angels, and maybe she will be soon. “There you are, Mom. I know you, I miss you. The real you before the disease stole you.”
I spoke to her about her upcoming death. I asked her how she felt about it and what she thinks heaven will be like. She spoke of looking forward to talking with her parents again and conversing with Jesus. The sunlight shone bright, and I tried to soak in the power of the holy moment. I knew it was fleeting, and this would be a moment in time I would remember long after she has left this earth. Sacred moments are like that, you must hold them loosely, being fully present to the gift of the moment, a taste of God, and knowing the sourness of death will come again, but not now, now I sit, I breathe, and I try to drink in the gravity of this divinity.
