It’s now 3 years since we said goodbye to my mum and Sarah’s dad within the space of a few weeks. In both cases, there was an unexpectedness although we were aware of serious health conditions. In mum’s case, she had gone into hospital for surgery on a hiatus hernia but didn’t recover from the surgery and acquired an infection.
The events are likely to stay imprinted on our memories. I remember that we were coming back from Sarah’s mum’s the second weekend after her dad had died. It was late Monday evening. I’d spoken to mum in the morning before she went into hospital. We were driving in a torrential downpour and conditions were hazardous. Sarah was watching the road, I was watching my phone, anxiously waiting for news that mum was safely out of surgery. I remember giving a sigh of relief when we got the message that mum was in the recovery room.
However, when we arrived home, we were getting anxious messages from dad. He’d called the ward and got no answer. We reassured him that it was probably just routine and no news was good news. The next morning though, dad managed to get through to the ward only to be told that mum was on ICU. Again, nothing too much to worry about surely. She had been told that there might be need for extra care at her age. All the same, I phoned ICU myself and spoke to the nurse. She reassured me that mum was awake but had been struggling with pain and was using morphine. I asked a couple of questions, just to confirm all really was well. There was something about how the nurse answered or didn’t answer that gave me concern. So I decided to get straight on the train to meet dad and go to the hospital to see mum. I would always encourage you to trust your instincts in such situations. What it meant was that when I arrived, although mum was struggling for breath I was able to spend time with her, probably our last proper mother and son conversation. Later that afternoon we were advised that things were on a knife edge and they were concerned for mum. The next day she was intubated.
I guess that we still were hoping and expecting that things would sort themselves out, a bit of additional mechanical ventilation would help mum’s lungs to recover. However, it wasn’t to be. Mum wasn’t getting better and the following week she was suffering from an infection that wasn’t responding to treatment. We met with the medical team who slowly talked through possibilities, clearly nervous about how this would affect us as a family. We were able to speak for mum, to remind the doctors that mum was a believer in Jesus who had no fear of death. So, in the light of that we asked them what was the best way forward. They explained that it was best to take mum off ventilation and see what happened. They thought it possible we might have anything from a few minutes with her through to a few hours or possibly a day or two even. They were not optimistic though and we did not know if she would be able to communicate with us. So we gathered the family.
As it turned out, we had a the whole of the next day with her. We also had a lovely time as she was able to talk a little. We found out that she had been aware of all that we were saying as she was intubated and sedated. She wanted to speak to each of us to insist that we took care for one another. She was struggling to say something which we eventually realised were the words:
“Home now”
During that week whilst she was in hospital I’d actually had a dream that we had gone to collect her from the hospital. Mum wasn’t in her hospital room, so Sarah and I had been waiting in the café area when mum came walking up behind us, actually a younger version of mum. I asked her where she had been and she said that she was getting ready and was now ready to go home. Mum knew that she was going home, not to her earthly home but her heavenly home.
During that last day, we had such a strong sense as a family of Heaven coming down into that hospital side room as we prayed, read Scripture and sang with mum. There were tears of course and mum had tears in her eyes too at times. Again not out of sadness at what was ahead but I’m sure there was a bit of her that wanted a bit more time with her family. The constant sense though was that we knew were mum was going.
Sometimes when people said to me afterwards, “I’m sorry for your loss”, I wanted to respond, maybe I did by saying “but we have not lost her, we know exactly where she is.” There is real grief for us when we say goodbye to a loved one but it wasn’t and it isn’t without hope. Jesus told his disciples:
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God[a]; believe also in me. 2 My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am (John 14:1-5)
Home for Christmas is the good news for those facing death and those grieving death that we have an eternal home to look forward to.
Faithroots 