She used the word tranquil.
I’d never heard her say it before. It wasn’t a word that typically came from her mouth.
But on that day, the day before she died, my Mom smiled and said she felt tranquil.
It was as though Heaven had reached into her hospital room and soothed her. The hands of Heaven - the hands of a God Who sees - comforted her deep in her soul.
Tranquil.
She was ready to go. Cancer had stolen so much from her. For months a tumour had been working its way through her body, and we were less and less able to manage the pain.
She knew she was dying. We all did.
And on this day, just hours before she went to be with Jesus, she felt tranquil.
I haven’t had the courage to write about those last hours with Mom. It was not tranquil for me. I desperately did not want her to go.
In my humanness, I wanted more time. I wanted to hear her laugh, and I wanted to hear her say my name. I wanted more walks. More visits. More Mother’s Days.
I wasn’t done loving her here. And I wasn’t done being loved by her.
But she was ready. Ready to meet her Saviour face to face.
Ready to stand with millions of angels and sing with all of her heart, “Holy. Holy. Holy.”
Today, as I write this, my beautiful Mom is exactly where she wants to be.
And while she sings, eyes dancing in joy as she gazes at her Saviour, we grieve.
We don’t grieve for her. She’s Home.
We grieve for us. We grieve because we love.
Grief is a placeholder for what was.
It’s evidence of life-changing love.
Maybe you know this pain. The feedback from so many of you tells me you know exactly what this pain is like.
Maybe like me, you’ve said goodbye to a parent. Or two. Maybe a spouse, a child, a sibling or a friend has gone ahead of you.
If so, if you’ve said an unwanted goodbye, I am so sorry. I’m sorry you’re having to do life in a new normal you didn’t ask for.
As I’ve wrestled with grief lately, the thing that brings me the most comfort is the deep soul knowing that God is close to the brokenhearted (Ps. 34:18).
Our Bible tells us that He counts tears (Ps. 56:8). He hears our cries (Ps. 40:1). He knows our prayers - even the ones we can’t say out loud (Romans 8:26).
He knows. He knows. On a scale I can’t fathom, God knows.
And so here we are. Grieving and missing someone we love.
I’m with you. Even though we may have never met, I want you to know I’m with you.
Together in this shared understanding of loss. And of grief. And of standing in a new normal we didn’t want.
One day, not too far from now, we will get to be Home too.
In the most amazing hello, we will hug the necks of the ones we’ve said goodbye to.
Can you imagine that Hello!?
And more than that, we will be face-to-face with Jesus.
We’re promised Eternity. When we know Jesus, we get to do forever with Him. We get to do forever with our loved ones.
And today, while I wait for that day, I smile at the thought of Mom dancing at the Throne. Hands lifted high. Her brown eyes more alive than ever.
Her Saviour smiling back at her.
It’s the most beautiful image I can picture.
If you’re grieving today, I see you. If you’re deep in the missing and some days it’s extra hard - I’m over here with my hand in the air.
And I just want to remind you to hold on. As you wait for Eternity. As you wait to meet your Saviour face to face and wrap your arms around your loved one, just hold on.
He’s preparing a place for you. He has it all figured out. His promises stand.
And one day, not too far from now, we will smile up at Him. He will welcome us Home, arms spread wide.
And I’m certain that, among other things, we will indeed find we feel tranquil. And completely healed and at Home with the One Who rescues and saves.
Praying for you in the season of grief you’re facing today. Trusting our Father as we lean on Him through it all.
Love,
Nicole
