I thought I understood completely the concept of myself being Earthly alive as opposed to Heavenly alive. I have always known our real home is with our almighty Father, and this temporary place we stay in is just a wisp of wind in the scheme of things. In my mind, I could see this great divide between these two places, and it’s only when my time here is complete will I completely feel the reality of my forever home in Heaven.
I thought this until my mom passed away and this great divide came crashing down.
I’ve heard people say that when they lose someone, a part of them went with their loved one when they passed. A wonderful friend who lost her son in a freak accident told me she is ready to trade her time here to be with him because that is where her heart is anyway. I heard these words but never experienced what they meant. Now I’m in the club of lost loved ones, and my eyes have been opened.
I’ve lost grandparents whom I love but since they always lived a distance away from me, our daily connection to each other was compromised from birth. We loved through the miles, and that is okay. My connection to family has always just been my mom, dad, and brother. With everyone else living no closer than a day’s drive for most of my life, it was always just us.
My mom’s passing is the first real heartbreak of loss I have experienced. Her daily presence is no more and that just seems surreal to me. She passed away on January 28th of this year, and I was there when she died. I fell on my knees beside her feet and cried out for my momma like a three-year-old child. My husband said he will never be able to get that image out of his head. I broke his heart as mine shattered right there onto the floor where she lay.
As I gain perspective over these last few weeks, I feel closer to Heaven than I do here on Earth. One of the most important people in my life is in a place that I long to be, and she is experiencing all of the joy and glory in the presence of our Savior. It’s strange, but I feel as if I am feeling her joy as well.
Anything I ever order from a restaurant or pick from a buffet, my girls have their forks on the ready to taste from my plate. It’s been their standard practice since they could hold a fork, and my mom always yelled at them to let me eat. I chuckle at this memory because I feel like that now. I want to experience all that my mom has on her plate and as my mom, I know that she would share with me if she could. I guess that is what it means when people say a part of their heart went with their loved one. My mom has a part of mine in her pocket—if they have pockets where she is.
The hold this Earth has on my life just got a little looser. The draw to the enticements of this world isn’t grabbing me as tightly. I know God gave me a purpose, and I pray I honor Him with the rest of my life here, but a chunk of who I am isn’t in this life anymore. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Our hearts should always be seeking Heaven. A part of mine is just there waiting for the rest to come when God calls me home. Until then, it is my prayer that I open a wide net and be a fisherman of men and women and point towards the direction of my Savior. My mom has a part of my heart with her in Heaven, and He continues to hold the rest.