Hi, Mom!
It’s been over a year since you died. Which stinks. I never knew what a meltdown was until you… left us.
I spoke with Steven Dunn yesterday. He was telling me just what a wonderful person you were. In our little circle of things, you’re famous, Mom.
People don’t understand what I went through. You didn’t at the end, either… because of your dementia. What started with crippling arthritis, breathing problems, and bad blood—which they suspected was a blood cancer—took you from being my mother, and then my co-parent to my children… to becoming my little girl.
Like you did with me and my children, I would say, “It’s about time for bed, Mom.”
“Okay, John.”
Ugh. I can still hear the inflection of your voice—the way you drew out my name: “Ju-awn!”
I took you to the bathroom, then to bed. You had to be tucked in just right.
“Is the front door locked?”
“Yes, Mom. Are you ready to say the Lord’s Prayer?”
Sometimes you could say the whole thing… but not so much toward the end.
April 6, 2004. That’s when you saw Jesus.
God told me the day before that He was taking you. I heard Him speaking like thoughts inside my mind, just as clear as a bell:
“I’m going to take her home. She’s fought hard. She’s tired. So I’m going to take her home.”
At around one-twenty in the morning, I got the call:
“We did CPR for ten minutes and finally brought her back… If you want to say goodbye, you need to come now.”
I don’t want to write the rest. I can’t.
Going through this bereavement class for work, as well as grief counseling, triggered some memories. And when a counselor told me to have grieving people write a letter to lost loved ones—or even dear pets—I immediately began writing, “Hi, Mom.”
And this is how you came to read this.
Tell Mom “Hi” for me, will you? She’ll like that.
I know some will quote Scripture and say, “To be separate from the body is to be present with the Lord, and there are no tears in Heaven, so they can’t see you.”
But my Jesus is the God of Love. And I know it wouldn’t be too much trouble for Him to motion to Mom and say, “Daughter, come here.”
“Yes, Lord?”
My God, her face is beaming! I can imagine her in my mind’s eye, young and vibrant and. beautiful! Wide eyes, raised eyebrows, full attention on the Master.
“He’s praying again that I pass this message on to you, Daughter.”
Mom’s smile spreads into beaming shafts of sunlight, reflecting the Master’s Greater Light.
“They love and miss you,” Jesus says. “And John keeps saying, ‘We’re coming Home… Vinnie and Kaylee and Leo and Sydney… we’re coming Home!’”
“Tell them I miss them, too,” Mom says with a beautiful smile.
“You can tell them yourself, Carolyn… when they get here.”
Mom pauses for a moment then asks, “Are they here yet?” She’s like a child on a long trip yet filled with spiritual wisdom.
“Not yet, Daughter. Soon… soon.”