#4

FAITH

An I AM Academy Creative Collaboration with Emi Creates

Sometime in 2017…

It was 8:45 on a Wednesday evening. I leaned on the edge of the bed as I listened to the soft pitter-patter of the rain falling on the window sill, adding to the somberness of the dark evening. As I held her hand, I watched my mom's chest go up and down, her mouth hanging open as she continued her routine slumber.

    At this moment, I realized that she was already gone. She couldn’t talk freely or interact within conversations as she once did. She needed assistance with the most basic tasks: getting out of bed, brushing her teeth and washing her face, eating…

In recent weeks, whenever I looked at her, I couldn't help but notice how drained and lifeless she now appeared. It was as if she had become a mere shadow of her former self. Despite this, I was amazed by her unwavering faith. Even during her hospice days, her most significant request was to have her favorite worship music played on repeat. Specifically, she asked for the song "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me. It was clear that music brought her comfort and solace during her final days.

   As the song played on repeat for what felt like the millionth time, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, but I couldn't cry. The sound of the rain grew louder as I sat in the dark. I gently let go of my mom's hand and went into the kitchen for water. On my way there, I passed the dining room, where my aunt sat at the table, talking to a funeral home representative.

 "We would want to have the funeral held at the church." She insisted.

 "That can be done." He replied. He wore a shiny suit with a burgundy tie. I passed their conversation with zero interest. I wasn’t in the mental space to make grand decisions like that, so I was grateful to have family around to help, especially with all the various tensions surrounding my mom’s pending earthly exit.

When I returned to the living room, she had her eyes open.

"I want to turn." My mom whined.

I placed my water on the ledge across from her bed.

   "What do you mean, Mom?”

    "I want to turn,” she repeated.

I assumed she wanted to rest on her side. I linked my arm under her shoulder and helped her rotate her body to face the stairs.

    "Are you comfortable like this?" I asked. I'd never seen her lay on her side while sick.

    She nodded her head and continued to stare into the distance. I crossed over to the other side of the bed, sat down facing her, and reached my arm around her side, beginning to rub her back. She looked at me with a weak but wide smile. Her eyes grew large, staring back at me like big magic 8 balls. When she'd held the expression as long as she could, she fell back into the distant stare and slowly but surely back into a peaceful sleep.

The year before, if I recall correctly,  I'd just recovered from what I'd then named the worst period of time of my life.

"It can't get any worse than this..." I'd thought at the time.

Boy, was I in for quite a surprise…

6.12.23