Two years ago we said goodbye to my mom. She was a fighter until the end, lasting longer than the drs thought after life support machines were turned off.
When I was growing up, she was often sick but yet she still found ways to make special moments and memories with us. I remember her making pinatas for our birthday parties, hosting end of summer parties for us and our friends. She once read about how to make large animals out of wood, a chicken wire frame, and paper mache and we made some incredible things sculptures together: an 8 foot long alligator, a 5 foot tall dinosaur and a 5 foot tall mummy (that one was for a school project). I remember the night she declared that we were having an ice-cream dinner and it was ok because the green mint ice-cream would count as the green veggies. She built a tree house for us in the backyard. It never was finished as she wanted, but she also had big dreams for it. Every Christmas, she would make many different kinds of cookies to give away. As I grew up and had a family, this is something we continued to do and as Christmas approached, I could count on many emails from Mom with new cookie recipe ideas.
Mom also had a quiet but strong faith. I remember seeing her with her pink Bible sitting on the couch or in her room reading and marking it up. She had so many bookmarks throughout her Bible of special passages that spoke to her that her Bible bulged thick. I remember watching the transformation she went through when I was a teenager and she was becoming sicker and then living at Temple University Hospital waiting for a heart and kidney transplant. My once shy mom now has a "fire" in her to share her faith with others. I first saw this one day when she was at home before the transplants--I came downstairs and she was on the phone telling someone about Jesus. Before this she has been very quiet and private about her faith...rarely even praying out loud at the dinner table. When she got off the phone, I asked her what she was doing and she explained that her time may be short and that she realized that she needed to share with others what was important to her. She went on to quietly but persistently tell others when she moved into the hospital. Many who stayed there with her, spoke of her quiet, strong faith and how she brought comfort to them as she would lead the group in prayer before surgeries. She also started a Bible study while there and continued to go back weekly for years after her transplants. Watching her taught me that God can transform us and use us if we just let Him.
As I grew up and had a family, we became closer and I talked with her often. She came and helped after each boy was born, offered suggestions and cooked meals for us. We talked recipes, life issues, and kid stuff. After Sarah died, Mom called regularly, asking direct questions about how we all were doing. And a few months later, even as she was preparing to say goodbye, she continued to ask how we were doing. She always lit up when she was with the boys and clearly deeply loved them.
I'm grateful for the time we had together, to make memories and for me to learn so many things from her. I'm grateful the boys knew her. I'm grateful that she is in Heaven--healed and no longer dealing with all the health struggles. Mostly, I'm grateful for the hope we live in of seeing her again. The boys and I imagine that she's snuggling Sarah and reading books to her or playing hide and seek. I like that picture.
