I was called to the Chicago suburb recently for the second time in three weeks to be with my ailing mother.  Having recovered well from a stroke twelve years ago, she was now suffering from Pneumonia, Parkinson’s and Osteoporosis. She was very weak.  My brother and his wife met me at Chicago’s O’Hare airport and we drove straight to the hospital. 

My mother hung on for another few days, only able to respond with some hand and finger movements and an occasional facial expression.  She could no longer speak or move the majority of her body.  Still, we had the feeling from her limited responses that she was still there, hearing what we said.  We visited with her for several days until her breathing started to get erratic followed by her closing her eyes, signifying that she was gone.  My brother, Conrad, confirmed that she had died after checking her for breathing and pulse.

Her time of illness provided an emotional preparation time for her going home to be with the Lord.  I know that she is in a better place now and I will join her in heaven some day.  Perhaps she is finally able to see my dad after thirty four years and play with my son, David, who died as an infant.

I have pictures of my mother and father on my desk and am reminded of their goodness.  I now realize that they were right so much of the time about so many things when I was growing up.  Only after having a child of my own could I appreciate the great job that they did for us.

Having become a widow with three children still in school, she worked hard and saved for our education.  All three of us got through college, my sister and I holding master degrees and my brother is a doctor.  She did this following the tradition of her parents who, as immigrants during the depression years, saw their children graduate from college.

Grief is not easy and can not be rushed.