Bittersweet

Tom and I returned home last night from a few days in New York to be with family and participate in his mom's funeral.  The view from the plane window was just like the one in this photo, taken by Tom's dad in 1956.  We arrived between blizzards that paralyzed travelers on the East Coast and drove to the Buffalo airport for our return trip through an exquisite wonderland.  The six-foot icicles that hung from the eaves of the house were beginning to drip as we left.  The six-foot azalea, bursting with purple blossoms, greets us this morning as we go about our day.

In the midst of tremendous sadness, there is quiet joy at a time like this.  We spent time with family and friends, we shared stories, we remembered our own years on the farm with Tom's parents. Cousins came from out of state; I saw dear friends I seldom get to see. Saturday evening was especially sweet as three generations of the family ate and played together.  I got up one morning thinking that Carol must have already done some baking.  No, a dear friend had brought a big basket of bran muffins and had left them on the freezer, along with the starter for more.  Salads, main dishes and cookies -- oh, so many cookies -- kept appearing. The kindness of the people who truly loved Mom was very heartwarming.

But the greatest joy is in knowing that Mom is in the presence of Jesus; she's talking with the people from ages past whom she has known through the pages of scripture; she's with Harold, her husband of 70 years.  And she is experiencing no pain or sorrow.

Their pastor, Ben, told me that he was visiting Dad and Mom one day and he was praying with them about many things.  He began to pray for their marriage.  Mom opened an eye and said, "We've got a good marriage, a very good marriage," and closed her eye.  He said that Mom could always make him smile.

Sometimes when older people get sick they become difficult.  Maybe they say harsh or mean things.  When Mom got sick she broke into prayer.  I'd never heard her pray spontaneously until about a month ago, when her body was starting to give out on her.  We'd call and she'd be so happy to hear from us.  Her voice was weak and airy so that we'd have to strain to hear her words.  And then we'd realize that she was praying for us!  It was so moving to know that, even though her mind was not completely clear, her spirit was.

I have a picture of Mom in my mind which I will always carry with me.  She has been playing the piano and has just turned off the piano light and pushed in the bench, and is now standing up.  She smooths out her apron which she is wearing over her red skirt and yellow blouse, clasps her hand in front of her, looks up at me with a smile and says, "Now, what can I do to help?"