The Stages of a Farewell

Mom, early in 1951 when she was expecting my oldest sister

I have written before in this place about my mother's death. Her birthday was last week, so I have been thinking about her these past few days. It was six and a half years ago that the Lord called her Home. I can always remember because it was the same time we brought Sergey and Oleg (Joshua and Benjamin) home from Siberia. 

In so many ways, though, Mom has been gone much longer than that. Joshua and Benjamin never met her, but even Elizabeth, who is 12, and Rebekah, 10, didn't know her. By the time they  were born, my mother was already gone.  Alzheimer's had taken her from us. 


For the seven years before she went Home, the disease had steadily carved out little pieces of her mind and personality, leaving blanks, gaps, voids. 


I remember when it really hit me. Kregg and I had traveled to Fort Worth for Thanksgiving. At that point, we had only the three oldest of our children. Mom had always been a good cook. But that morning, I remember exactly where she was standing in the kitchen of my childhood home when she said, "I hope I can make this dressing. I've never made it before." Her dressing had always been one of the favorite dishes on the Thanksgiving table. Kregg and I looked at each other. And as I, in shock, plumbed the depths of my loss, my sweet husband gently said to her, "Doris, you don't worry about that. I will make the dressing."

That evening, I guess because of all the company and cooking, things got ugly. She became very frustrated for no reason we could see and lashed out at the children. It was a nightmare. We truly did not understand. It was all so new. We were simply in shock. 

I vividly remember, and it still makes me weep, ushering the kids quickly out of the house to our vehicle trying to figure out what to do. I told Kregg, "That is NOT MY MOTHER!" as I sat there grieving. My wonderful husband, my "little-s-savior", offered to take us to a hotel, or to his brother and sister-in-law's house. He would have done anything he could to spare me the pain. There was no way we could stay at Mom and Dad's. The kids were just too much for her mind to handle at that point. And they couldn't understand why Grandma was so mad at them, why she said those things to them.

The disease slowly removed her wonderful sense of humor. It robbed us of all her stories. She could no longer talk on the phone. When it reached the point where Dad could not care for her, we moved them here, Mom to a care facility and Dad to a little apartment right down the street from her. 

While she lived here, we were able to see her often. It was hard on the older kids. They remembered Mom before her illness and it really hurt them to see her so changed. But the younger four kids just accepted her as she was. They didn't know what they had missed and so they didn't grieve it like the other kids did. For the most part, Mom was cheerful. She was just blank. She knew that I looked familiar, but couldn't place me. Her physical body was still strong and healthy. It was just her mind that was sick. But as I wrestled with it in prayer, He was always so present, so comforting. And I am convinced that, even though her mind didn't know me, her spirit always did. And that is the real Mom: her spirit.


There are three things that really stand out to me from that season. They are the three things for which I am most grateful.

The first is this. Our youngest turned four while Mom was here. And from the very first time Rebekah walked into that Alzheimer's unit, she would climb up in Mom's lap and throw her arms around Mom's neck. When Mom would see Rebekah walk into the room, her face would light up. And Rebekah, in turn, would run to Mom as fast as she could. They would sit there, wrapped in the embrace of the other, just allowing Love to wash over them. They rarely even spoke. They didn't need to. But their spirits connected. 

Mom contracted a staph infection from one of the other patients in the unit. There were many others who became sick, but Mom's case was the most serious. By far. She was admitted to the hospital in the middle of the night. 

I knew. 

I knew this was the beginning of the end. And since I had been saying my goodbyes to her with each stage of her illness, the Lord's Mercy allowed me to deal with only this one, final remaining goodbye. I had already grieved my loss in pieces. The true magnitude of His Mercy in allowing me this process became apparent only as the storm of the next several months raged over us. He knew there would be no emotional reserves to spend on anything except helping two little boys, who had never known anything about Love, learn what it meant to be part of a family. The full scope of grief that I was spared at that time is the second thing for which I am so very thankful.


Mom was moved to the Hospice unit in the hospital after a few days. Transferring a patient from one room to another can be pretty intense as the buzz of all the necessary papers and people and medical issues are dealt with. But after they moved her to the new bed in the new room in the new unit, there were a few moments when I was the only one in the room with her. It was quiet. 

In the previous few days, there had been no moments of lucidity. But in that small, quiet moment, I was leaning over her bed and she looked at me. She actually looked at me and saw me. Recognition flashed. I said, "I love you, Mom!!" She looked right into my eyes, smiled at me, and said, "I know. I love you, too." And then she was gone again.


That is the last thing I ever heard from her lips. And it is the third, out of His many blessings, for which I am most grateful. Even though this cruel disease had ravaged her mind, her spirit was still the same. And that is who she really was. And is . . .


A few days later, she went Home. And in His grand Mercy, I had complete Peace. I knew this had been the day established for her Homecoming since before she was even born. 


How can the Ruler of the entire universe be so very gentle and tender with my heart? I will praise Him all my days!

Happy Birthday, Mom!!