My Mom, the first angel I ever knew, is in heaven now. She passed on early this morning at a beautiful hospice facility at the age of 96. Last night as I watched over her, I could hear a bullfrog singing in the pond outside her window. Crickets and cicadas joined in the chorus. A peacefulness settled over the room and my Mom's heavy breathing blended in with the cacophony. During the day, I'd watched graceful white heron land on the water's edge; yellow butterflies, and hummingbirds busily flit around the flowering bushes by her porch. The whole atmosphere had a touch of heaven and I felt grateful for the loving care and support of all those who helped make Mom's transition a peaceful one. You could feel the presence of the angels.
As I held that toiled hand that had labored over me through the years, the first clasp I'd ever known, it now seemed fitting that mine was to be the last to hold hers as she prepared for a rebirth into a new and better life. The cycle was complete; these loving hands of hers and mine, entwined in a bond that transcends time.
And just like the angel she was, after taking her last gentle breath, the nurse put a sweet homemade angel holding a rosebud on the pillow beside Mom's resting place.
Thank you, Mother, for teaching me the joys of life.
Love,
Karen
