The Passing of My Mother

We all must honor our parents. It is the commandment of the Bible, also rooted in common sense. Honoring our parents means honoring God, it is saying, “God, you have arranged the best circumstances for my life.” I will write here about my mother, not so much about her love and multiple virtues, but about her attitude towards death and her experiences as she passed from this life.

I was living in United States, with a happy family and a good career. After the death of my father, she was living alone in Romania. I was experiencing a slight sense of guilt, as I could not be with her through her last years. I visited her every year, and I called her about once a week, but that sense of sorrow and guilt persisted. She did her utmost to make me feel good. As a sign of true agape love, she kept telling me that she is happy if she knows that I am happy, and the rest does not matter.

When she was past her 80s, her health started to deteriorate. I arranged for her to have a woman to stay with her during the day, help her and take care of the house. Later, when I found that she had troubles during the night, I have hired a second lady to stay with her at night.

In the last year of her life, she told me that she had absolutely no fear of death. She also told me that I was allowed to be sorry for her passing, that I can even cry once or twice, but I was not allowed to be troubled in my spirit. She was at peace, death was natural, she lived her life and was ready to meet her Maker.

In the day she died (or rather entered a comma) she waked up un the morning and talked with the lady who was taking care of her.

She told the lady, “I know I will die today.”

“God forbid”, answer the lady. “You look fine, do not worry.”

“The reason I know it”, my mother explained, “is that this night I had an unusual dream, which I have never had before. I saw my parents, who were smiling and came and embraced me. I experienced an unusual peace and happiness.”

At around noon, her condition worsened, and the caregiver lady called the ambulance. A neighbor lady, friend of my mother also came. Later this neighbor told me that when my mother was taken on a gurney to the ambulance, she asked the men to stop for a minute so she could take a last look at the house in which she lived for sixty years. She wanted to say goodbye, perhaps to thank God for all the blessing she had there. At the hospital she lost conscience, entered in a coma, and never recovered. She died two days after that.

I flew back to Romania and participated to her funeral. It was a beautiful September day, almost the same day of the year in which my father was buried.

I experienced her last act of love two days after her burial. I visited a cousin, the daughter of her brother. The cousin told me this: “Before she died, your mother told me which were your favorite foods, and asked me to promise I will cook these for you after her funeral. I did it, please sit down at the table and enjoy.”

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