IT WAS ENOUGH.

Today marks the one-month anniversary of my Mother’s home going. This month has been incredible. I have been loved on, cradled, hugged, prayed for and encouraged, even by people I didn’t know. God sends people into your life when you need it most. When the nights are darkest and the sunrise will not come soon enough, God sends angels to minister to us. I feel as though I’ve had an extra dose of “angelosity” this month and I am ever so grateful for it.

Immediately after Mama passed away, I was very emotional and that was to be expected. But 24 hours later, I was in my bedroom and had a sinking feeling in my chest come over me. I just had to flee. I needed to get to her assisted living home as soon as I could. I was literally running out of the door, bawling, when my sisters asked what was wrong and where was I going. I told them where and my answer as to why was I returning to Stonebridge because for over a year I had been there every day to check on Mama, every morning between 6:45 and 7:00 I would arrive and every evening between 6:45 and 7:00 I would return. As I got in the car, I looked at the digital clock on the dashboard and it was 7:00 p.m. My chest was hurting and I could hardly breathe. I could not get there quickly enough. It was where I was supposed to be.

We arrived and three of my favorite people who work there were at the nurse’s station. We hugged and cried and as we began sharing stories of Mama, the tears turned into laughter and that continued for over an hour. It was just what I needed. My sisters and I walked down the hall to her room and as we strolled quietly, I glanced to and fro and recalled with precision, every single place, every chair, every hallway, everywhere that I had been with Mama. We came to her room and it was completely void of furniture except for the lift chair. My sisters commented “She’s not here anymore,” to which I replied, “Oh but she is! Her presence is everywhere I look in the room.” The place where her couch was and we would sit and call my siblings on their birthdays so they could hear Mama once again belt out “Happy Birthday” to them. We would sing, and sing, and sing some more. It was the impromptu student’s desk for Mama where I continually tested her memory unbeknownst to her.

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My eyes caught the dim light coming from the bathroom. The bathroom is where we spent countless hours and honestly, I learned more lessons in that tiny square footage than anywhere else. Hard lessons, practical lessons, lessons in grace, sweet lessons in forgiveness and gratitude. I know it sounds odd, but anyone who had been in that room with my mother, knows what I am speaking of. That bathroom was literally my classroom.

I next turned to look at the place where her beautiful off-white bed was and remembered how she fought us so hard to lie down in her bed. She was much more content just sleeping on the couch. It was a reminder to me how content she was with a simple life. If I did get her to sleep in her bed, she wanted me to lie down next to her and we would engage in sweet, memorable pillow talk all the while teaching me, encouraging me, stretching me.

I looked to the space where her hospice bed had been placed. Oh my goodness. The pain I felt as I looked at the piece of equipment was immense. I think one of the longest struggles in Mama’s life was in or near that bed. She passed away in that bed. But over the past six or seven months prior to her death, as she slept she had multiple encounters, we believe, with family members who had already passed or perhaps with angels. During the night shift, she would often raise her hands in a slow, graceful movement to the ceiling as if reaching for a hand or praising the Lord. Other times, she would just clap softly. What a sight to behold. Every time this occurred, a hush would come over the room to see if Mama would utter anything that might give us a clue as to who she was interacting with. To our delight, the person she spoke of the most was her Mama. Oh, those were special moments.

The last item I recalled as a fixture in her room that she inhabited was the wheelchair. Up until February of 2017, Mom, who was 90 years old at the time, required no assistance with walking. However, she had a series of falls and the worst one required us to put her in a wheelchair. My legs were the storytellers regarding my constant battle with that wheelchair as I transferred Mama from the recliner to the wheelchair multiple times a day with a helper. My claim to fame will never be a graceful caregiver. Bruises, all colors, shapes, and sizes, were a constant sight on my lower extremities. There are good memories, as good as some can be, of that wheelchair, too. One of Mom’s favorites pastimes in the wheelchair was to pedal her feet as quickly as she could as we pushed her down the hallways. Sometimes she was on auto-pilot and she was thrilled with her adventure. Other times while she was in her room, we turned the music up a little louder and she maneuvered that chair all over that room, all the while getting in some great rhythmic shoulder action to the beat of the music.

As we left Mama’s room that night, her presence was so strong to me. As I walked down the hallways, looked into the dimly lit dining hall to the table and chair she sat at every meal, I touched the couches and chairs she had sat in outside the dining hall, and peering into the TV room…she was there. I felt her presence around every corner and practically every chair in that TV room. I had spent hours there, days even.

I am quite shocked yet delighted to share with you how well I find myself adjusting to such a drastic change in my life not only losing my sweet Mama, but having so much free time every single day, particularly during important family times such as breakfast or early morning before my girls leave for school and in the evening in the middle of supper. My family is really enjoying me being home again. I remember seconds after Mama took her last breathe, I said outloud, “My life just changed dramatically!” My sister later told my two daughters in the hallway that they had just gotten their Mama back. Truer words have never been spoken.

I’ve had a few really hard cries, the ugly cries, especially the second night she was gone and much to my surprise, it was at 7 p.m. yet again. What occurred that night is another story unto itself.

I attribute my peaceful transition to God’s strong arms carrying me and the people, so many people, who had loved on me and encouraged me. That is living water to my soul. It is also because Mom lived a beautiful, very fulfilling life for 91 years. She told me 20 years ago she was ready to go so I have an unspeakable peace where that is concerned.

Lastly, I believe one of the reasons I am not an emotional wreck, which would be my usual M.O., is because during the past decade, I gave Mom my time and attention and tried to the best of my ability to meet her ever-changing needs. I prayed God would never make me put her in a nursing home. He didn’t. I prayed He would not let her suffer, and He didn’t. I prayed most of the children and grandchildren would be able to come and all but one came and he was in the hospital himself. He literally had a doctor’s excuse.

At the end of my first month without my sweet Mama, I head to bed content and peaceful and knowing with full resolute that what I did for Mama, be it right, wrong, or indifferent, well, it was enough. It was enough. I have zero regrets. I attempted to do everything to the best of my ability, although the learning curve was extremely high, and love Mama unconditionally and treat her the way I would want to be treated. That was my daily goal. Was it easy? Oh my goodness, no, not at all. Would I do it again? I received so many countless blessings and memories and lessons and was able to live out what God’s Word tells us to do in front of my children and grandchildren, I would have to say a resounding, “YES.”

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Hug your Mama today friends.