Loud wails and intense sobbing echoed, as I walked up the sidewalk to Mother’s door. And I stepped on to Mother’s doorstep, I recognized Mother’s voice. So I opened the door and rushed in without knocking.
Mother sat on the edge of her rocking chair with her hands covering her face with my sister, Cathy, at her side. Cathy frowned and shrugged her shoulders as our eyes met. She sat close to Mother on a stool—tissues in hand—ready to provide whatever comfort she would accept.
“Mother, I’m home!” I hurried across the room and embraced her.
“She’s been like this all day,” Cathy explained as she fought back the tears.
Confusion and darkness ruled Mother’s thoughts as she fought a disease that was destroying her mind. And as I knelt down to hug her, she melted into my arms.
“Mother, are you afraid of dying?” I felt her fear surrounding us.
“No … of living!”
Mother had faced death before and survived. A few years earlier, when her heart failed during surgery, Mother caught a glimpse of the afterlife. But the darkness terrified her, as she faced the emptiness of her faith. After this horrific experience, Mother sought answers to her questions and fear of dying. And she discovered the missing link in her spiritual life—an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ.
As Mother faced her terminal illness, fear and doubts flooded her. Would Jesus provide an answer to alleviate her fear this time? Could she really trust Him to be with her as she walked through the valley of her impending death?
I couldn’t save Mother from this rare disease, but I could choose to trust the Lord to walk with us all through it. God reminded me of His promise: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23: 4 NLT).
I also recalled His faithfulness through the years. “I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken …” (Psalm 37:23 TNIV).
As we walked though Mother’s last days, God once again provided all that we needed day by day. Sitting near my mother on her sofa one day near the end of her journey, I noticed her eyes fixed on the high ceiling in her townhouse living room.
“What do you see, Mother?”
“Heaven,” she responded without changing her expression.
Shocked by her answer, I asked, “What does it look like?”
“Huge,” she sighed.
What a perfect description of heaven, I thought.
During the next few weeks, Mother lost her ability to communicate at all. As the end drew near, we would sing songs about heaven to Mother and read her scriptures.
Mother remained silent after sharing her vision of heaven with me, but I knew she was convinced it was her destination. And a few weeks later, in the final moment of her life, Mother whispered, “I’m home.”
Photo (Burnelle Allen Barnes Baize)