Turbo Cancer: Day 183 - December 11, 2022
Steven
On this day, last year, my mom slept.
It was as if she had been an angel, floating on a cloud.
The hard lines of tension and pain had left her face.
Her breath was gurgled, but quiet, and relaxed.
All of the excess fluid was gone. Her legs looked normal again.
She was surrounded by love.
All day long, people came to visit.
They came to pray.
They came to say goodbye.
Sometimes, when somebody told my mom they loved her, or when they kissed her on her forehead, her eyelids fluttered, or were raised.
My mom’s spirit was still there, filling the room, but she no longer suffered.
Her spirit was pure emotion, and it was palpable. Every person could feel what she felt.
It was an experience of both profound sorrow and profound joy.
At the end of the day, I was alone with my mom. I was in my pajamas, curled up in uncle Nick’s chair, next to her bed. It was my turn to watch, to wait, and to administer medicine.
The room was peaceful.
The only light came from the little Christmas tree that sat on the dresser.
The medical machines hummed.
I sat silently.
My mom started to moan and to raise her hands. She lifted her arms, reaching up, toward the ceiling.
I took her hand in mine, leaned in, and said, quietly: “It’s ok. I’m right here.”
Her eyelids fluttered. Her eyebrows were raised.
Her eyes opened.
She looked at me.
She said: “Steven.”
I held her hand tighter and, with desperation in my voice, asked: “Did you see Steven? Is he there?”
She looked right into my eyes, and her entire face became a smile.
She smiled at me,
and then,
she went back to sleep.
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What a gift the Lord gave you that your mom saw into heaven to know that your son was safely in the arms of Jesus. And she was able to communicate that to you. I pray you have found comfort in that.
Of course Steven! God is so good!