A Time of Transition

My Sunday School co-teacher, Penni, referred in a prayer to this time with my mother's ALS as a transition. That stuck with me because we often think of death in terms of an ending, a finality, a loss. But those are terms that more accurately describe the survivors' earthly status to the deceased, but the deceased has actually transitioned to the next stage of life, an eternity with one's Creator, or an eternity without. The first choice is heavenly, the second is heart-rending.

Because of our relationship with our Creator through Christ, I know my mother and I will see each other again after her transition. I've already asked my mother to meet me by the gate-- no matter who goes first. And none of us are guaranteed a long life.

I realize those folks who have grown up outside of a knowledge of God and the Bible, and even for agnostics who are familiar with Christianity, that probably sounds like wishful thinking from a simple-minded anomaly at the top of the food chain. That's okay. I'd rather live a life of trust in my Creator and his Word, which He has proved to me time and time again, than the empty, hopeless worldview without God. There is no transition for unbelievers. Life has no meaning, only a brief speck of existence during a moment in time, and then it's back to the dirt. Lights off. The end. Finis. Terminated. And if folks want to live with that belief, I can respect that. But I choose otherwise.

And it's God's grace that will sustain us as we're getting into the hard days of Mom's disease now. She's lost the use of her legs and most of her muscles, and cannot move without two of us helping her in or out of bed and in and out of her power chair, which right now is the only thing that allows her to defy her paralysis. We are so thankful she can still do things with her hands, including writing to communicate with us. I pray that we will not lose that connection. I pray for courage and peace for Mom, and she's demonstrated that; I can't imagine what it's like for a perfectly healthy mind to be trapped in a body unwilling to do its bidding.

Even as old as I am, the little girl in me still wants to crawl in bed with my momma and hang onto her for dear life. I'm already missing her-- not being able to converse. I'm tired of my one-sided conversations, and silent house. The writer in me wants her to spend this time recording all of her memories and thoughts and messages to her kids so we can have those words to keep us company until we're re-united again. But Mom doesn't think the way I think, and only records thoughts when I prompt her to. I've stepped back from that, telling myself to be content with what she's given me and letting her live out the rest of her life as she chooses.

She loves to watch the Spurs. She faithfully watches Jeopardy, Family Feud, and Wheel of Fortune. She still has one favorite soap opera she watches, and I try to bite my tongue when I want to spout something sarcastic about another predictable, worn-out story line when I'm walking through the living room. And I've stopped fussing about her feeding the dog scraps from her chair. That gives her joy. She deserves it.

And that gives me joy.