A Lazarus Moment

Over the past several years my mother had endured the unendurable; having been assigned almost 50 (count ‘em) 50 diagnoses; great and small. And during the past several months she’d been confined to her bed; depending on staff persons to do virtually everything for her. (I can tell you it was strange to see her suspended from the end of a metal arm, as a nursing assistant moved her from her bed to a wheelchair).

I have previously written about my mother’s passing, and a peculiar moment of grace which she experienced, and which her family, in turn, experienced with her.

And without reciting the entire story again, suffice it to say that in early April we were summoned to her bedside. At which point, two of her four children promptly arrived at the nursing home and found our mother unresponsive, drawing 32 breaths a minute, and emitting that ungodly rattle of death; which is so common with dying people.

Of course, we had every reason to believe, at this point, that mama was on her “way out” and would not be with us for very much longer. And as is the case with, well, me, (as by now I am well acquainted with death) I stepped close to my mother’s bed, and began to sing to her. 

“Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost, but now I’m found

Was blind but now I see.”

And as I finished one verse, and prepared to sing the next, I would say something like,

“Mama, it’s okay to go.”

(or)

“You’ve waited patiently to see daddy again. He’s just a breath away.”

But since I hadn’t been able to reach my youngest brother, at some point I took my leave, and drove the short distance to his house to fetch him. And with a great deal of trouble I finally managed to wake him, and make him aware of our mother’s condition.

Ultimately, I returned to my car, and drove the six or eight minutes back to the nursing facility. Just as I strolled in the front door, and retraced my steps to Room 24, I passed the floor nurse, and asked,

“Has there been any change?”

To which she responded with an uncharacteristic smile,

“Well, yes!”

(And with that the nurse joined me in what was left of my short journey to mama’s room, and allowed me to discover for myself what her two word retort, and subsequent smile could possibly mean).

Upon entering my mother’s room, it was all too apparent that, indeed, there had been a significant, (and from my way of thinking miraculous) change in her condition.

My mom was awake, aware and all there.

Granted, she was still two shades paler than she’d appeared in the past, and spoke in a whisper, but she knew everyone, and as a matter of fact when my brother and his girlfriend walked in, she greeted them warmly.

And as I inferred in my earlier writing, I asked my mother if she had heard me singing to her; to which she responded in the negative. However, they say that hearing is the last thing to go, and I think somewhere in her so-called psyche she must have heard me. 

What I have referred to as a ‘moment of grace’ with our mother lasted all of twenty minutes, and it was then that she slipped into a deep, and apparently painless sleep. At which point my family members and I decided the worst had passed, and headed home; (though we were not naïve enough to think our mother had all that much time remaining to her).

Strange, that throughout that unexpected few minutes of lucidity neither we, nor she referred to her terminal condition. Neither I, nor anyone else bid her goodbye, nor expressed any parting regrets or reconciliations.

And upon reflection, at that stage in my mother’s metamorphosis between this life and the next, I’m not altogether sure she realized she was actively dying. It may be she thought she had merely woken in the night, as she was prone to do. If so, our presence by her bed may have seemed more like dream, than reality.

A couple or three hours after my wife and I returned home, and drifted off to a troubled sleep, history repeated itself. My mother’s symptoms had returned with a vengeance. 

Eight hours later it was over.

I suppose I will always wonder whether, when mama experienced that virtual ‘Lazarus moment,’ she realized how close she was to crossing over. If so, she never said, nor did she exhibit the slightest bit of fear.

For months my mother claimed she was ready to go, and that the best gift God could give her was to summon her to her heavenly home.

In the end she received the reward for which she had so dearly paid; with a brief moment of grace thrown in for good measure.


By William McDonald, PhD.  Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary," Vol. 36. Copyright pending

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