My dear mother, Mary Therese Hartig, passed away peacefully in her sleep early yesterday morning, August 13. Her birthday is on August 28; she missed turning 94 by just 15 days. We–all of her five children and her grandson, Sam–got to spend time with her these last few weeks, and we celebrated her birthday ahead of time with balloons and cake. She was mentally sharp that day. It was a gift to her and to us. Now she has a new birthday, and she is fully herself at last, completely Mary, daughter of God. His grace has so much covered these last days with her, and these words of mine, watered with tears, are also filled with peace and gratitude.
Paul the apostle wrote these words of glowing hope and promise:
For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.
So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him. (2 Corinthians 5:1-9).
Mom’s earthly tent was failing her. She got to a point where all she could do “to please him” was send money to charities and pray for people. And pray she did. If she knew you, chances are good that she prayed for you. But she longed to go home.
I used to pray that someday, while lying in bed, she would awaken from her sleep and see Jesus standing by her bedside, smiling at her. He would say, “It’s time at last, Mary. Time to come home.” He would gently take her hand, and lift her up, and pain and sorrow and confusion would fall away in the presence of Love. He would guide her as only he can through the passage of death into the boundless kingdom of life and light and belonging. And in that moment she would cease to be an old, frail woman and be the Mary he created her to be–no longer blind in one eye but seeing more clearly than any of us can imagine; no longer aged, lonely, and terribly fragile but younger at last, and more vital and happy, than her own daughter and sons are in this time-bound world.
God has answered that prayer, as he answered my prayers years ago with my dad. So as I cry, I also thank my Lord. And I am grateful I have had Mary, his daughter with her own unique name and story, for my loving, self-sacrificing mother. Not every mother is deserving to be called one–I know this far too well. But Mom was a true mother, and I am blessed to have had her for my mother.