Rev 21:3-6 I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. 4 “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” 5 Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me, “Write, for these words are true and faithful.” 6 And He said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts. 
Last night, I changed my mother and put her into bed. As I was trying to get her settled, her breathing became labored and she could not get comfortable. She was not very responsive, and she had a distant look in her eyes. I was reluctant to leave her alone then. She seemed much more comfortable lying partly on her side, so I sat beside her on the bed and supported her. I held her hand, I rubbed her back, we played her favorite hymns. I prayed, I was feeling helpless, unable to make her better. As we listened to the words of Just as I am: “Just as I am, Thou wilt receive, Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve; Because Thy promise I believe, O Lamb of God, I come, I come;” her eyes closed, she took one more difficult breath, and stopped. I prayed, and held her hand a little longer, but I knew she had gone. O Lamb of God, I come, I come… She left this world of impairment and disability, this life of frustration and pain, and she entered the glorious presence of her savior.
This last week had brought so many changes. Mom had forgotten how to swallow, I often had to massage her chin to coax her to eat. For lunch I had fed her an “Ensure” by teaspoon, one sip at a time. She no longer even tried to lift her arms to my shoulders when I transferred her from her bed to her chair. The only thing she had tried to say several days before that I could understand was “I love you.”
I am at a loss now. I don’t know what life is going to be like here. Mom and Dad moved in with us just before Christmas 2001. For the last 8 years, the one constant has been their presence here. Dad left us the day after Easter, 2004. It was amazing and humbling to hear him, in the anguish of his last days cry out to Jesus. And I believe that God had mercy on him and took him to be his own. Now Mom has gone as well. I would never wish her back here, the Alzheimer’s is such an insidious and debilitating disease. It systematically deprives its victims of the things that are most uniquely human. I believe it is a terrible assault upon God’s image in His children.
I am sad, I am happy. I am distressed, yet I am relieved. I thank God for the opportunities I have had to serve my parents. I regret and repent of all the times I was impatient and abrasive to them. I wish that I felt my kindness was greater than my selfishness, but I know my own heart. I guess that is the most difficult thing right now. As friends try to commend me for what I have been fortunate enough to be able to do, I am shamed by all the things that I now wish I had done, the things I wish I could do again differently. But that moment is past. Lord teach us to be kinder, gentler, more compassionate today, because eternity is just around the corner.
I really don’t know what will become of this blog. Its time is fulfilled. It really has no more reason to go forward. I will leave it here for a while, as an archive of this journey I have blundered through. Grace and Peace to you all. Thank you for all your prayers. God be merciful to us, we need it… we always have…
Last week at this time, Nancy and I were between Baltimore, MD. and Winchester, VA. We were headed to our friends’ home in Elkins WV. We actually were away for about 66 hours. It is the longest respite interlude we have had in several years. It was great to be someplace else. It was great to be with friends that really understood our distraction. Ralph and Alice share their home with Alice’s dad.
After yesterday’s post, I went searching for pictures of Dad. I found one that is just a little unsettling. It was taken around Christmas in 2002. When I looked at it, I could not help recognizing that look in Dad’s eyes. I see it in Mom’s frequently now. It is the confusion and fear that the dementia leaves as it isolates its victims. Once familiar places seem foreign and mysterious. The sound and motion of a room full of people does not bring any comfort or companionship. The coming and going and ambiguity of once familiar faces must actually increase the loneliness of this powerful deterioration.