Mailbox Encourager
The 15 months of waiting were over. The wondering each
time the phone rang. Would this be the call?
Because I lived 250 miles from the nursing home where my
mother was a resident, communication with the staff and
hospice team was by phone. Each time I identified a voice
belonging to either staff or hospice team member, my heart
started to pound. I held my breath until I heard the
reassuring words, "Don’t worry, Joyce. This is no
emergency." Only then did my mind and body begin to relax,
waiting to hear the reason for the call.
The anticipated and dreaded call came from the hospice nurse
early in the morning. She told me to call family; Mom would
be in heaven by evening.
Mom had beaten the odds. Seven days before she’d had two
mini-strokes, leaving her without speech or the ability to
swallow. At that point, I was told it would be about 72
hours. But she was a fighter. She wanted to live. A
rheumatoid arthritic for over 40 years, she was an
inspiration to many. Even when her hands became so crippled
and deformed that she could not hold a pencil, she always
tried to do for herself, not wanting to bother anyone.
I felt like I was in a fog and someone else was answering
when I heard myself tell Kim I’d notified relatives and
friends the week before after her strokes. Those who wanted
to say their good byes while she was alive had been there
over the weekend. The only one to notify immediately was my
husband.
Shock and numbness were creeping in. My rational mind tried
to grasp that my precious Mother and best friend would soon
be in heaven. Even though I had peace and assurance that
she’d be with Jesus and rejoiced that she’d finally be free
from pain, my bleeding daughter heart overruled. The little
girl in me screamed, "No, no. Please don’t leave me."
Waiting for the call over those many months, I’d prayed and
agonized over a decision that needed to be made. Health
challenges prohibited me from going down to Mom at the point
of death, and then staying the additional days until the
memorial service. I could do one or the other, not both.
After her strokes, I could no longer procrastinate. The time
had come. Thinking I could use a little impartial input, I
placed a call to the hospice team social worker. Our talk
clarified my thinking. I needed to attend the memorial
service to say good bye to Mom. I also wanted to meet and
thank the many people who had shown such kindness to Mom
during her last months. I sighed with relief as I hung up
the phone. The decision was the right one. There would be no
regrets later.
Now, three weeks later, the trip home and the memorial
service were only special memories. The numbness and shock
were beginning to wear off. Reality settled in as I waded
through paperwork, paid final bills, and filed for life
insurance benefits.
That particular morning I was so lonely for Mom. I was weary
and drained. Angry, too, that I’d received incorrect death
certificates the day before.
Out of habit, I lifted my heart to the Great Comforter,
asking Him to send a ray of sunshine…a little
encouragement…something to help ease my aching heart.
I dismissed the idea of the mailman bringing anything.
Anyone who might have sent a sympathy card already had.
Halfheartedly I returned to my morning tasks, periodically
checking for the yellow ball to be up on my mailbox,
signaling mail arrival. I hurried out when I saw it.
I sorted through the stack of mail anxiously looking for
something besides bills and advertisements. Curious about a
small red envelope with an out-of-state return address, I
immediately ripped it open.
The first sentence identified the writer as a hospice
volunteer. My hand holding the letter began to shake, my
heart pounded, and my legs almost buckled under me. The
wooden swing next to the cabin was near. I slowly walked
over to it and sat down. Only then did I continue to read,
letting the healing tears flow as I drank in the words that
described a few of their activities and Mom’s impact on her
life.
After I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, I smiled and thanked
the Lord for prompting this sweet lady to put pen to paper,
so her words would arrive...just when I needed them.
Joyce Heiser copyright 2003
alwayswriteforhim@yahoo.com
Joyce Heiser is a strong believer in prayer and volunteers
on a "call in prayer line. She also enjoys reading, music,
bird watching, and tatting.