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People sometimes die abruptly. People also die after prolonged periods of sickness. Having experienced both of these scenarios, I cannot say which is worse, or better. To die suddenly or after an extended time of suffering both end in the same result, and that result produces heartbreak.

When I was ten years old, I stepped off the school bus on a Friday afternoon with a cheerful anticipation of an entire week of spring break. The Indiana Hoosiers were in the final four and the weather was warming up. Life was good. My feet were barely touching the ground as I approached my house, thinking of all the wonderful events that would unfold during this week of freedom from school. 

I opened the front door, and before me stood my dad and mom. Both were crying. With tears streaming down their faces, my dad shared, “Grandma died today.” Those words changed everything. My mind immediately flashed back to the last time I saw her. 

Sunday. Five days before. My grandma ate lunch with us after church. Spaghetti. Garlic bread. Lemonade. I scarfed down the food and ran to my room to finish a book I had been reading. When it was time for my grandma to leave, my mom yelled for me to come out of my room to hug and kiss grandma goodbye. I hurriedly exited my room, gave grandma a half-hug and a peck on the cheek and ran back to my room. 

That was the last time I would say goodbye to my grandma. If I would have only known, I would have done so many things differently. I would have thanked her for enlightening me to the amazing world of frozen applesauce. For showing me how to turn vanilla ice cream into a chocolate milkshake with Hershey’s syrup and a little milk. For buying me a toy every time we ventured into a shopping mall. But being a typical self-consumed ten-year-old, I never took the time to give her a heart-felt thanks for what a top-notch grandma she had been. 

Her death taught me the significance of saying goodbye consistently and completely. Goodbyes are important to me now. Whenever I leave the presence of a loved one, I hug, kiss and say, “See ya later” almost every time. 

Fast forward to 2022. My mom checked into the hospital the first Friday in January. She died just a couple days before May. She lived her final four months in a hospital bed. My mom’s death occurred after a long battle of sickness. 

My mom’s life leading up to death was different from my grandma’s death. I was in the hospital room when my mom’s heart stopped and she breathed her last breath. As agonizing as it was to say goodbye to my mom in this way, the ability to say goodbye felt like a gift from God after the most exhausting multi-month journey I have ever been on. 

My family and I remained hopeful that God would heal my mom from her sickness the entire time. It wasn’t until the final few days before she passed that I started to shift my mind from the hope of earthly healing to preparing myself for life without her this side of eternity.

I was able to say goodbye to my mom in two different ways. First, during the months of January, February, March and April, I told my mom several stories when I was visiting with her and I thanked her for being a terrific mom. Without realizing it in the moment, I was saying goodbye to her. God knew that I was honoring her with stories and gratefulness about her “well-lived” life, but I just thought that I was encouraging her so that she would have enough fight in her to get better and walk out of the hospital eventually.  

I am sharing this text I sent my mom with the hope that you will get a glimpse into how I was given the gift of paying tribute to her while she was still alive. Usually, these kinds of words are reserved for a eulogy, but because of the critical state my mom was in, I wanted her to know what she meant to me. On January 21, at 1:51 p.m., I texted my mom: 

“Mom, it was so good to see you today. I wish I could hug you or hold your hand. Thank you for taking me fishing when I was little. I can still picture how you would let me fish and would sit with me. You have been such a great mom to me. And you are now a wonderful Grandma. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday.” 

If you have ever had months to release a loved one from this earth, you know exactly what I am about ready to describe. Many individuals who watch a loved one slowly die from cancer can relate to what I would like to call “the long goodbye.” Every moment is precious. You sense in your heart that this might be the end, but you also hold onto hope that God could intervene and extend your loved one’s life for several more years. 

During this long goodbye, especially if it lasts for several months, your heart changes. Your mind begins to transform. Your countenance might look exhausted, but God is working in you. All the pettiness this world offers fades into the background and you become laser-focused upon what really matters. In what ways do you center yourself more fully? 

But the world around you pushes back the spiritual progress you are making. You are in a life and death situation, but others around you are gleefully discussing a new restaurant they tried out. You are in a constant prayer mode, but you’re forced to listen to a co-worker drone on and on about how they spent their entire weekend binge-watching a must-see series. Your mind is weighed down wondering if life will ever be good again, but you overhear someone complain about the cold weather. Sadly, you fear that as time passes and you find your way out of the tragedy that you will most likely resort back to the same worthless endeavors, trivial conversations and quasi-adventures humans create that hinder them from actually living “for the glory of God” (2 Corinthians 10:31). 

Those who are able to linger in the “long goodbye” are taught lessons that have the potential to free their soul to experience an abundant life. 

Living in the valley of death for several months shaves off the excess silliness of this world and shapes us into who God has purposed us to become. 

If you listen to the whisper of God in the pit, the “long goodbye” will change you for the good. And that good will produce that which is eternal. 

Second, there is another kind of goodbye I would like to call the “sacred send-off.” It was the last full week of April and I had already spent time with my mom on Tuesday and Wednesday of that week. But early Thursday morning I received a text from one of my sisters explaining that I needed to come again because the doctors didn’t give her much longer to live.  

My dad, my three sisters, several grandchildren, a couple in-laws and I gathered around her bed and we waited for her to pass from this earth to eternity. Ten of us had the privilege of being in the presence of my mom in her final hours.

We took turns speaking to her. With tears streaming down our faces, we thanked her for being an amazing mom and grandma. We said goodbye to her in our own unique ways. We hugged her. We kissed her forehead. We touched her hands and feet. We combed her hair with our fingers. We laughed when someone would say something funny. 

The mix of wholesome laughter and sorrowful tears are a recipe for a sacred moment.

In the final few hours of my mom’s life, the hospital room became a sacred place. I could sense the holiness surrounding us in the room. God was preparing His angels to secure my mom’s soul and deliver it safely to heaven (Luke 16:22). 

We were not ready to send her off. I was internally hoping that somehow God would intervene in the last possible moment and my mom would open up her eyes, sit up on the side of the bed, and step out onto the floor and walk out of the hospital with us. Amazingly, even when all the signs point towards no hope, we hold onto hope. Hope that someone can be healed on earth. But even when they die, we hold onto the hope that they are in heaven.  

God was moving my mom from this earth to heaven. God was not just with us because of His omnipresence, He was completing the work He had started in my mom when she was just a young girl. Her home in heaven was complete. Her life on this planet was complete. She was now ready to begin a new chapter in her existence. 

Her God was in the room. Her guardian angels were in the room. Her family was in the room. My mom wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

She passed peacefully. We were concerned that there might be a struggle in the final moments. But God gave grace for this moment and placed a calmness over her body as her soul exited. The doctor and nurses came into the room to make it official. No pulse. The doctor nodded and confirmed the time of death: 3:23 p.m. 

The ten of us remained in that room for a couple more hours. Her soul was no longer with us, but our hearts needed to continue to grieve by saying goodbye a little longer. When you find yourself in a sacred place, you want to linger there. To leave too quickly diminishes the reverence of the moment. And healing happens in that sacred place in ways other places hold no power. 

It was hard to comprehend that this was really the end of our four-month journey. We were all exhausted physically, emotionally and spiritually. In God’s sovereign compassion, He orchestrated this gathering around my mom so that we could say goodbye. We could have been awakened in the middle of the night by a nurse informing us that my mom had died, but instead, God in His mercy chose to give us the gift of saying goodbye, together as a family.

Sometimes we do not get to say goodbye to a loved one. But in those rare moments we can give our respects to a dying person, I hope we can sense how close our own souls are to heaven during this time. In a way, we could feel that heaven was opening and Jesus was waiting to welcome my mom home (Acts 7:56). This was a goodbye I will never forget. I will cherish this holy moment until I breathe my last breath here on earth.    

Goodbyes are not forever if you are a Christian. They are not the end. Goodbye simply means, “I’ll miss you until we meet again.” 

Goodbye mom. I’ll miss you until we meet again. 

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