I Have Lost My Mom

April 13, 2026

My mom has died.  March 23, 2026.  At first, it felt easier than I expected. Dementia had already been taking her from me for two long years. In those final days, she was almost as much a stranger to me as I must have been to her.  She was ninety, and I often found myself praying for Jesus to take her home—to make her whole again.  But I was given a kind of mercy in the midst of that loss. I always knew who she was, even when she no longer knew my name. That is what matters most to me now. I knew her. I still know her. And even more, I carry with me the long, rich history we shared.  In that history, I was always the beneficiary, and she the benefactor.  I knew my mother’s pride. Even in our rare disagreements, mostly during my wayward years, I never doubted it. There was a look she gave me, one that held both pride and disappointment.  And somehow, those two things together made her pride all the more meaningful. You cannot fully feel one without the other. I knew that look well. I saw it often. And beneath it all, I knew she was for me.  She was always for me.  She stood in my corner—loyal, steady, and fierce in her defense of me.  She saw me in years when I was, by any measure, indefensible. She lived through my greatest failures, many of them not just personal, but in direct conflict with her faith, her God, her Savior. And still, she remained. 

So now, the morning after preaching her funeral, I find myself reflecting on the greatest gift she ever gave me: she lived out Christ’s example of acceptance. As Scripture says, she did not hold my sins against me. I never lived under the weight of shame from her. Christ has never held my sins against me—but before I understood that fully, He gave me a mother who embodied it.  She always made me feel that she had hope in me.  I have often said I never fully understood my mom and dad. At my worst, and I mean my very worst,  they were somehow at their best. How can that be? I’ve asked myself that question many times. The only answer I’ve ever found is this: I could tell they had been with Jesus.                                    

And now, this morning, the reality is settling in with a weight I can hardly describe, like a lead mountain.  She is now forever with Him. And for a time, no longer here with me.  One of my greatest advocates—certainly my longest one—is no longer with me. She has gone on to glory, as they say, and I must learn to go on without her.  I did not lose my best friend.  I have lost my mom.