God gives strength and peace for moments of departure.
by Tammy Darling
I never saw a person die before. I never would have thought I could watch my mother die.
Today, I did just that. And I was at peace.
Gradual decline
For more than thirteen years, my mother suffered from the effects of dementia and Parkinson’s disease. It had been several years since I last heard her voice.
For multiple months leading up to her passing she couldn’t move any part of her body. At. All. The week of her passing . . . no food, water, or medication intake.
A decade-plus of grieving a person still alive but not truly living.
Surrender
Watching my mother die became a possibility greater than myself. Initially, I didn’t believe I could do it.
And yet, on the eve of her passing, I found myself praying in all sincerity, “Lord, if You want me to be there when my mama passes away, I’m okay with that.” And with those spoken words, I somehow sensed I would be.
I didn’t know it would be the very next morning.
Future focus
I sat beside my mama as she lay motionless on the bed in the nursing home, where she had spent the past ten months. I placed my hand on her forehead, periodically caressing her cheek or holding her hand.
I chose to think, not of her dying but of the good memories . . . and the ultimate good that was ahead for her.
Counting down
Mostly, though, I just held my hand firmly on her forehead and counted.
From the moment I arrived in Mama’s room that morning, I noticed far too much time passed between each breath she took. I knew it wouldn’t be long. First, 4-5 seconds passed between each slight gasp. Then 7-8 seconds. The end was imminent. Two 9-10-second lapses, and she was gone.
With that last breath bringing death on earth, the reality that Mama would see her Savior one day became a new, exciting reality.
Finished race
A holy hush fell over the room. My mama had finished her race and won the ultimate victory. The words of the beloved hymn “It Is Well With My Soul” blanketed me in the most comforting way.
Six days after her birthday, which happened to fall on Thanksgiving Day that year, my mother was gone. And I still had much to be thankful for.
God’s goodness
After I left the nursing home with my mother’s belongings in the back of my vehicle, tears of gratitude fell like rain. Watching my mother die wasn’t the horrible, traumatic event I’d thought it would be. It was a gift.
Suddenly, the goodness of God overwhelmed me. I realized He waited until I was ready before allowing my mother to pass from this world. Such a gift cannot be fully appreciated until it’s opened, until it’s experienced. Now I can’t imagine not having been there for her passing.
Some gifts you don’t know you need until you receive them. God knew what I didn’t: that I needed to see my mama pass peacefully and to know she didn’t struggle and wasn’t alone. I’m sure in the days and weeks ahead I will be even more grateful.
Journey
The ending of it all was so fitting. When I was born, my mother held me. When she died, I held her. Our relationship had come full circle in the most beautiful way. This, too, was a gift that I hadn’t recognized as such.
We’re all on a journey. After fighting her good fight, my mama passed on to the next part of hers.
While her never-ending journey through eternity continues, my own continues on earth, albeit temporarily. We are apart only for the time being and will one day be reunited. That is also a gift, one reserved for a future unveiling.
Giving thanks
This ending is a new beginning, for Mama and for me. She goes on with; I go on without. My sorrow is minimal when I think of all she is free from on this planet and all that is to come in her new, permanent home.
As I go on without, I give thanks — for the time I had with her, for the end of her suffering, for all the good memories. I give thanks that God allowed my life to collide with hers in the most unique way. Of all the mothers in the world, I had her. The gift of life, even in death, can never be taken away.
I lost my father suddenly last year, and now my mama is gone too. The emptiness of being parentless pierces my soul more so than her death itself. A void like that cannot be filled with the same substance. It will take time to fill it however the Lord sees fit.
Peaceful contentment
The unexpected gift of seeing my mother physically take her last breath overwhelms me. The Lord knew I needed to be there; I just needed to relinquish my will and thinking.
There’s a melancholy feel surrounding this holiday season. Recalling past holidays with my mama, from my earliest remembrance to just last year, brings a sadness of knowing there will be no more.
And yet, there is also a quiet, peaceful contentment that doesn’t typically accompany grief. With a smile, I realize that the last holiday season ushered in my mama’s release from pain and suffering in her body, mind, and soul.
And I praise God that I got to witness the transition.
Tammy Darling has published approximately 1,500 articles and three books. She lives in Cassville, PA.