sacred ground

I've gotten into a sort of routine while I wait for God to call my mother home. I do things around the house in the morning and then head over to my mother's for a long afternoon at her bedside. I'm a "martha" so it's hard not to tidy up, do what I see to do in her room. I turn off the overhead lights and turn on soft lamplight. I play a classical music CD--not too softly, so she can hear since her hearing aids are put away. Or I play hymns for her on my i-pad piano ap and we sing--well I mostly sing alone now as she is too tired to join me. I decorate her window with valentine "clings" and try not to notice the dirty outside of the window as the sun beams through the gorgeous colors. I change the water on her pink roses and water her yellow tulips. I show her photos. We talk if she is awake.

I hold her hand and stroke it's thinness and think of all that hand has done for me throughout my lifetime. I think of the many letters written, sealed, and put in the mail to me and to many others. When we don't talk with words we look deeply into each other's eyes and talk that way. I often feel I'm an extension of this mother of mine, we are so alike.

It is a precious time for pondering, remembering, and trying to take in what life will be like without her.

We talked of heaven again yesterday. She said she knew she'd be leaving her pretty pink room soon. Was she afraid, I asked after she said she'd be moving to heaven. "Not at all," she responded. "Why would I be?" Always steady, never ruffled, that's my mom.

I reach over and offer some sips of water. Then I softly spread lip balm on her parched lips. I feel her brow, rub her shoulders, adjust her pillows, brush her hair that is due for a haircut. Her room is beautiful. She is beautiful. She is content. She is peaceful. She is always grateful and says so. Even if those are the only words she has energy to say, she will say, "Thank you for taking care of me." As she taught me how to walk, cut my food, put on stockings, plan a wedding, be a mother to my children, she is now teaching me how to die. A role model to the end.

The hours with my mother each day simply fly by. I feel like I am in a sacred place, on holy ground. I almost can sense angels. I feel so privileged to have these days with her as we walk along her path to Glory. I will never, ever forget what I am experiencing. I turn my face away to hide my burning tears. She is at peace, and she brings peace to me. And so we wait.