Marvelous Light: in defense of heaven

One of my mom's favorite people, her grandfather, died in September. He was ninety-six years old, and certainly we knew he had to leave us sometime. But part of us really hoped he could just live forever.

We were in Dallas for the last 48 hours of his life. My mom and I arrived at my great-grandparents house in Dallas two days after they placed him on hospice. Friday afternoon his mind was sharp was but his body clearly tired. His lungs were failing.

I followed my mom's example and did not let his ashen color or the fact he was clearly in pain keep me from going to him, talking to him like normal, holding his hand and sitting next to his hospital bed that had been put in his bedroom.

My mom. A rock. Sure, she's pretty bad at some things, but when it comes to what is really important, she gets it. Though I don't hear her quote scripture or pray out loud all that often, things I used to think meant you knew God, you can watch her actions and know her faith is unshakable.

We were visiting with my grandmother in the living room in Dallas when a nurse came out from Papa's bedroom, had heard us arrive.

"Which one of you is Catherine? He's been asking for you."

Immediately, I mean immediately, a thought jumped into my brain "That is exactly what she is going to hear when she gets to Heaven."

My mom loves people really well. She takes excellent care of people. And here was my great-grandfather, a man my mom had been close to for her 53 years, asking for his granddaughter from his, not to sound dramatic, death bed. Is there anything sweeter?

Death should probably make my mom nervous. She should probably be too fragile to deal with stuff. But she is not that way. Grace fills in where human flesh fails.

I was nervous to be in Papa's bedroom. Hospice. Hospital beds. Raspy breathing. Nearly choking. It was scary.

But not to my mom. She got a cd player set up and Papa's favorite music playing. She asked the nurses to turn off the TV. She held his hand and talked to him. He opened his eyes and talked some. He was still fully with it, mentally. When she left the room, I held his hands and talked to him, looking out the window at the swimming pool where I had spent so many summer days. He hadn't noticed she had left. With his eyes closed, he talked to me as if she was still in the room. I obliged.

"Catherine, how's your house coming?" He remembered her current project in Houston.

"And do you have a washing machine yet?" He remembered she still does her laundry at her mom's house.

"How's Gus?" He loved my mom's brown lab.

The next day, she did the same thing, sat by his side. He was coughing like crazy.

"You know what, Papa? I think it might be best if you went to see Dear soon. I know she is waiting for you. We will take care of Mom. And Lene. Mom will be fine. We will all be fine."

I was smiling, holding back tears, and rubbing his feet at the foot of his bed as she sat near his head, rubbing his hands.

Hospice said it would probably be a week before his body gave out. Could even linger a month.

We prayed it would be much quicker.

And about 12 hours after my mom telling him to let go, the nurse came in as we sat in the living room, about 6:45 am Sunday morning.

"Mr. Monk has passed away."

I went in to his room and laid my head on his chest. This man, who had walked me down the aisle instead of my dad, was gone. No life in the body.

There weren't angels. There was no visible sign of heaven. I was mad.

I went to Papa's study in the back of their house, sat in the dark with my knees pulled to my chest, and sobbed. My mom came and found me a few minutes later. You okay sugars?

I just miss him so much. I miss him. I miss him. He should be here. He should be here with us!

Papa dying peacefully in his sleep seemed natural. Dad dying at 53, never knowing his grand children, leaving behind a lot of living to do, well...it made me mad. I wanted him there.

I really doubted Heaven in those few minutes. Do we just tell each other "they're in a better place" to make ourselves feel better? How does it work? Would Dad see Papa that day? If we don't have our earthly bodies how do we know each other?

I took a few deep breaths. I asked myself. "Do I doubt God?" immediately I knew the answer. No. Surely, no. I very much believe in God, though I may not understand his ways.

So, if I believe in God, I have to believe in his promises. And he promises us Heaven. He promised to save us a room in His father's house. One of my dad's favorite passages, we read several times together after his mom died.

For the meantime, while I don't have all the answers, I pray for the strength and grace my mom and grandmother possess. In eighteen months, my grandmother lost her mom, her son-in-law, her husband, and then her dad. But does she hide in her bed everyday? No. Is she "woe is me?" Not for a second.