My mother-in-law was born at home on a Sunday. Ninety-two years later she died — at home on a Sunday. There are worse ways to go.
Whenever someone completes a journey on this Earth, whether the news is good or bad depends on perspective. My mother-in-law had a minor heart attack in the fall and spent a month recovering and rehabbing. Then she had a massive stroke. She died 10 days later. That’s all bad news because my husband, son, daughter, and I, and the rest of her family, loved her deeply, and now we have to figure out life without her.
But it’s good news, too. She was 92 years old. She had lived a long, loving, happy life. She bounced back well enough after her heart attack to enjoy another month of quality time with her family. The stroke paralyzed her left side, but her right side was strong as ever. She could still grip with her right hand at full strength and kick her right leg high. She could still hear and best of all, for a few days she could still speak her mind. As she moved from intensive care to palliative care at the hospital, and then to hospice at her apartment, she knew where she was and who she was with until the end. And then, she knew full well where she was going next.
As a former Catholic living Lutheran with a modicum of secular humanism, I struggle with my faith and doubt. If my mother-in-law ever struggled, she never let on. Her Lutheran faith comforted and sustained her throughout her long life — as an Iowa farm girl, a school teacher, a parish worker, a minister’s wife, a mother, and a grandmother. Her faith also comforted and sustained her as her life ended.
Sundays always were special for her — from Sunday school to Sunday church, from her Sunday birth to her Sunday death. The obituary in the newspaper said she died. The card at her memorial service said she passed away. Neither had it quite right. She gave us the time we needed to say goodbye, and then she simply went home, on Sunday.
** In memory of Luella Hampton, April 9, 1925 – November 26, 2017 **