Her Faith Is Now Her Sight

My sweet mother’s faith became her sight on Tuesday, July 28, 2026, at 5:30 p.m. She is now in the arms of Jesus.

This woman fought until the very end. Her heart remained strong, and her hearing stayed sharp right up until the Lord called her home. She spoke to us through the squeeze of a hand, and when that grew too difficult, through the blink of an eye. We treasured every one of those small signals that she was still with us. The evening before she passed, she opened her eyes for a moment. What a gift to look into those beautiful brown eyes one more time.

I’m not sure I’ve ever known anyone with an “ashes” story like my mother’s. Her adult life was riddled with tragedy, trauma, and disappointment. Yet she pressed on. I can only imagine the silent agony she suffered without any of us, her children, ever knowing. After she and my father divorced when I was fourteen, she bore most of that heartache alone.

For her final twenty-nine years, a Parkinson’s diagnosis turned each day into a battle for her health. The diagnosis came young, and the disease moved fast. For the last eight of those years, she was bedbound. And yet even then, she was full of joy. I learned so much from the way she met each morning with grace instead of bitterness. Her strength was a sheer determination never to stop fighting, even as her body grew weaker. That competitive spirit served her well, and she never gave in to defeat.

I inherited that trait from her, without a doubt. She and I were frequent partners in Spades, the card game we played with my sister, my grandmother, and anyone else who dared to take us on. On our own, we were driven and spirited in any game, but put the two of us together in that one — watch out, world!

Her life may have been peppered with loss after loss, but Mom was no loser. To watch her battle every challenge was to watch a modern-day David face hundreds of Goliaths. That doesn’t mean the losses never touched her, or never made her ask, “Why?”

If she had a fault, it was that she never fully believed in herself, though you would never have known it from the way she stood against every scheme of the enemy. She fought for her children. She defended her friends. She was fiercely loyal. Above all, she loved Jesus. She was deeply loved in return, and it was a great honor to pour that love over her in her last days on this earth. Now that she has begun eternity with the One who loves her most, her wretched pain and suffering have ended. And all the tears — gone!

My mother never wanted to spend her last days cared for by strangers in a nursing home. I will be forever grateful to my sister and her husband for opening their home to her. They remained her primary caregivers until her final breath, with part-time help from a local health care organization.

After I lost two husbands within six years and had to learn to solo-parent our four adopted neurodivergent children, I grieved that I couldn’t do more for my mother these last nine years. She never complained; she told me she didn’t know how I could take on anything else. But that doesn’t change how I felt, and still feel, about it. Even so, I am deeply thankful for the extra time I had by her side these last thirteen days.

More than once over those days, I prayed that God would let me be at her side when she took her final breath. I can’t fully explain why it mattered so much, only that she had been there when I took my first breath, and it seemed right that I be there for her last. God granted my request.

I had taken the previous week off, back when each day looked as though it might be her last. After so many close calls, I finally had to return to work on Tuesday, the 28th. About halfway through the day, my sister called to ask if I could join a group FaceTime with my siblings and a niece. I slipped out to join and could see at once that Mom was near the end.

I left work early and drove the ninety minutes up the mountain, desperate to reach her bedside in time. I had made peace with the possibility that I might not make it, but I wanted, at the very least, to be there for my sister when the funeral home came for her body. I knew that moment would be too much for her to face alone. In His infinite mercy, God let me be there for both of them.

Even though we had twenty-nine years to prepare for this day, and another thirteen days to brace for how near it was, nothing readied me for the way I would come apart at Mom’s last breath. My cries came out guttural. I could hardly catch my breath. I remember apologizing for it, over and over, while my brother assured me it was okay, and my special-needs nephew stood behind me and rubbed my back. My sister had stepped into the next room for a moment; she heard the commotion and kept asking what was happening, even though she already knew.

When I look back on what made me crumble like that, one thought keeps surfacing: her life should have been better. Deep in my spirit, I know the faith I stand on never promised any Christ-follower a trouble-free life. My own life is proof enough of that. But in that moment, my heart broke for my mother. I wished her years had brought her less heartache and far more joy.

So, I will choose to seek out joy, even the ever-so-subtle kind. On the difficult days, I will praise God for the small, hard-won victories. On the best days, I will thank Him for His unmerited, abundant favor. And on the days in between, I will notice the good tucked inside them and write it down in a journal (an old habit I need to revive).

Take nothing for granted. Enjoy every good and perfect gift that comes from above. And even when those gifts seem anything but favor-filled, thank Him anyway. Even the hard days won’t be wasted. My mom taught me that.

While my brother, sister, and I will grieve the loss of our mother, we don’t grieve as those who have no hope. We will have all of eternity with her in Heaven. Come, Lord Jesus!

“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.”

~1 Thessalonians 4:13–14 (NIV)