I lost my dear mother yesterday. She was just shy of her 84th birthday (and looking forward to it, as she looked forward to ALL holidays.) She's been ill off and on for about 20 years, and so we were sort of accustomed to her amazing comebacks from impossible odds. But this time she didn't come back. She went home, instead. And I miss, her, boy, do I miss her already.
Sue Rovelstad Lawless.
A Scots/Norwegian gal, married to an Irishman. They had three children between them, and I am the oldest. Although their marriage didn't last, her love for us never failed. Never.
She was a mother first, artist second, and proud of that.
She loved color and beauty and Christmas. Weeks before she died, even though back pain was severely limiting her walking abilities, she surprised my daughter (her only granddaughter) with an impromptu birthday party at her house, complete with china and petit fours. She made a heroic effort to see her only grandson get married this past March, and boy did she enjoy every minute of it. Each of us kids had a hand in keeping her going as she got older, but what we didn't quite realize is how much she still had a hand in keeping us going. She was always there to talk, whether it was about news, basketball, art, or fashion. She worried over us and took up our offenses.
She died, as she had always hoped, at home in her bed, peacefully, surrounded by those she loved. I am so grateful for that, even as I wish we had been given just a little more time with her.
Of course we always want just a little more time.
But someday we'll have all the time in the world. When what is mortal has been swallowed up by life. When every tear has been wiped away and there is nothing left but the realization of how deeply we were loved by the One who makes all things new.
Mom's there now, waiting.