Not Gone. And Not Forgotten.

On Sunday, April 3, 2016 at 9:00 am I met my daughter Joni and her family at my sister’s house.  We were there to visit my mom who had just come home from the hospital the day before.  I took a photo of Joni’s family next to the bed where my mom lay.  She visited with us and seemed like she was in such a good place.  She commented on how well the doctors and nurses had treated her in the hospital.  The visit was short, but sweet.

At noon I returned to visit my mom with my other daughter Lisa, and her family.  Mom seemed a little more distressed at this visit.  She was reaching toward the window when we arrived and asked me to open it.  Still, she was very conversant and happy and seemed to be very peaceful. 

That night at about 9:00 I started communicating with my sister about my mom.  She informed me that mom was having a very hard time breathing.  After a few texts back and forth I asked her, “should I come over?”  Her answer floored me.  “If you want.  I don’t think she’ll be here in the morning.” 

Of course I went right over.  My mom was already gone.  Her body was still there, heart beating, lungs breathing and tissues living, but I could tell at first glance that the essence of my mom was gone. I arrived at around 10.  She died right before midnight.

I think you always look back at situations like this and think of things that you should have done differently.  One thing that I regret is not letting all my kids know about their grandmother’s death sooner.  I sent a text.  I think part of me just couldn’t deal with physically speaking the words.

But because I just sent a text we had a sweet little experience.  The next day I was talking to Lisa and she told me a story.  She was in bed asleep and a few minutes after midnight her boys both started laughing and talking.  Lisa just laid in bed hoping they would go back to sleep, which they eventually did.  The next morning when Lisa got up she saw my text and realized that Grandma Haroldsen must have been the one who woke up the boys.  She just stopped by on her way out to say goodbye.

Another sweet blessing came on Tuesday morning.  My niece’s 2 year old daughter came crying into my niece’s bedroom.  “Someone was here,” she said. The mom asked who and her daughter said, “Grandma Haroldsen.  And she said she lives in heaven now and had to go.”  Then the 2 year old started to cry because she missed her.   

Some things happened when my dad died.  I had 4 or 5 dreams that were especially significant and kind of surprising.  But things also happened when I was awake and just living my life.  The TV I was watching would randomly keep changing channels, when washing my hands in a public bathroom the drying towels dispenser would suddenly turn on and spew out paper towels, lights would flicker on and off when I was trying to paint.  One morning when I had just awoken I felt my dad’s hands pat me on top of my head, just like he used to do. One day while standing in the kitchen with my sister and talking about dad, a fake bunch of flowers fell off the top shelf of a bookcase and landed right between us.  In each instance I immediately knew it was dad. 

I’m not sure if I’ll have those same kinds of experiences with my mom now that she’s passed, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

We may not be able to see them, but they are not gone.

I can't wait until I see them.