Day 18: Happy 100th birthday! (1/23/22)

 Today my mother would have turned 100 years old. She died on March 6, 2019, just as Covid was shutting things down. She went through that door peacefully, with songs and readings and prayers surrounding her until she took her last mortal breath and began to breathe the air of the home she had longed for. If others’ accounts of their near-death experiences are any guide, she was greeted by the One who loved her, and by music much greater than our throats could sing.

Now what is mortal has been swallowed up by life.

She shuffled off her mortal coil most gladly, and I can understand that. Living into a great old age as she did must feel like getting up early, working hard all day, taking a rest after dinner, and then longing for bed. Sometimes you’re just too tired to keep your eyes open any longer.

This is her at 96, waving four of her daughters good-bye as we left for a trip to England and Wales to celebrate Gayle’s 70th birthday. 


I always think of this picture when I think of her saying good-bye to all of us and hello to those who had gone before her. She was happy to go, but you can also see the love shining out of her. She had an ardent love of God and a generous love for her children and grandchildren. Her prayers kept us afloat during difficult times. Mom, you were—and are still—a gift.

This being a Sunday, we listened to a sermon online (Ada Bible Church). Not that we can’t listen any other day, but it’s wise to have something that distinguishes this day of the week from the others. Playing dice (chicken and Yahtzee) with Jerry this afternoon around our picnic table, I mentioned that, as a child I was not allowed to play games involving dice or cards on Sunday. It wasn’t that dice or cards were evil—we played them every other day of the week—but that my parents chose to draw some lines. We were allowed to ride our bikes and play softball, but not to swim or go shopping. We couldn’t play with friends in the afternoon until after we’d learned our catechism. Again, the rules were a bit arbitrary, but we all understood them. Sunday was a different day.

It is in Texas too. This morning we did an H.E.B. run (groceries), and Phil tried to buy beer. “Sorry, love, but it’s only 9:40. You can’t buy beer until 10:00 on Sundays.”

I took a walk to Catfish Cove to stretch my legs that evening, keeping a sharp eye out for coyotes, wild pigs, and armadillos. I heard the pigs but saw nothing except lots of trails and hidey-holes in the scrub:


Maybe the wildlife was taking a day of rest too.



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