On May 30th, 2015, I woke up with a single, foreign thought running through my mind: “This is the first day of my life learning to live without my mom.”

Mom had died the night before at 10:50 pm. For the previous few weeks, she had traveled her end-of-life journey in her apartment at one end of our home.

We were so blessed to experience this sacred time in this way. Mom peaceful and comfortable in her own bed and me getting to care for her with the support of my wonderful husband and fabulous family and friends.

As her health gradually failed over time, it’s exactly what she and I had envisioned together. Mom had remained in control of her healthcare decisions and out of the hospital for many years. And as an old hospice nurse, I’d promised her I would always help and support her wishes to do so.

In the last weeks of her life, we continued in the same manner as she made her way Home. She’d been enrolled in a community-based palliative care program for several months and transitioned into hospice in the last three weeks of her life.

At Mom’s side that night, as I watched her breathing begin to change, I held her frail hand within my own and told her it was okay to go.

After all, whether I was ready or not, Mom certainly was.

In fact, at one point within the previous two weeks, she’d looked at me with eager excitement in her eyes and said, “I think I’m getting closer!”

I smiled and assured her she was right; she was indeed approaching the new Life awaiting her, where she would join her Savior and all the loved ones who had gone Home before her.

When angels drop by

One night during this time, I had been in her room taking care of her and went out to the kitchen to get something.

When I returned, she looked at me and said, “Did you see those two men?”

“What two men?” I asked.

As lucid and matter-of-fact as if the neighbor has just dropped by, she said, “There were just two men here. While you gone.”

Since I’d worked with the dying for so many years, I was a firm believer that there is heightened spiritual activity at end-of-life and knew this was real.

“What’d they say?” I asked.

Mom kind of shrugged. “Something about it not being time yet.”

I nodded calmly as the hair stood up on my arms. Then rushed from her room in excitement to go find my husband. “Honey, there are angels in the house!”

On my way back to Mom’s apartment I fell to my knees in gratitude that Jesus was reminding us we weren’t alone during this difficult time and all was proceeding according to plan.

And loved ones stop in

Like many of my hospice patients, Mom also had visions of loved ones who had died before her.

I remember her sharing about seeing her mom and dad, though quite honestly, those last few weeks were such a blur that I don’t recall the specifics. She may have said it was in a dream while asleep or during a time when she was more awake.

While some may believe such visits are hallucinations of some sort, as was suggested by a never-invited-back member of her healthcare team, I instead view them as comforting gifts commonly experienced by the dying.

A glimpse of Heaven

When Mom’s breathing began to change that night, I put my hand over hers and leaned in to whisper what I’d said all along, “I’m right here. I love you. It’s okay to go when you’re ready.”

And in those last seconds of her life here, as I felt her preparing to step across the threshold for Home, I almost felt like I got a glimpse of Heaven by being there with her. As if I was looking over her shoulder, a child peeking with anticipation at what lies ahead.

Her, one foot in Heaven and one foot on Earth, eager to move forward.

Me, excited for her and grieving for me, knowing I was about to lose her as she stepped into Jesus’s arms.

When she took her final breath, I fell to my knees beside her bed, grateful to know she was already enjoying the perfection of her eternal Home.

When butterflies show up

After my dad died in the years before her death, Mom said she was always comforted when she saw yellow butterflies, because they reminded her of Dad and gave her a sense of his presence.

In the same way, although Mom isn’t physically present with me anymore, I take comfort in what her hospice chaplain told us as we were both struggling to imagine a world in which we’d be apart.

He said once she died, she could be more present with me than was possible in the limitations of living on Earth. I don’t know if that’s actually true, but it’s certainly a comforting thought.

Which is why I’m going to hope she doesn’t mind when I say, “Hi, Mom!” to the yellow butterflies that show up just when I need them most.

And when two butterflies are diving through the air and playing together, I greet Mom and Dad both, knowing they’re enjoying Heaven together.

I’m so grateful for the comfort of such powerful gifts.

For the angels and butterflies God sends to remind us that we are not alone.

That my loved ones are happy and secure with Him.

And they’ll be waiting to greet me when it’s my time to come Home.

How about you?

What comforting gifts has God sent while a loved one was dying or in the difficult season since?

Please drop a note and let me know. I’d love to savor and celebrate that with you.

Photo by David Clode on Unsplash