My Mom died on October 4.  While it’s still fresh, I wanted to share my thoughts about the experience in hopes that when death comes for one of your loved ones, you will not feel alone.  

The words “death”, “die”, and “dead” are used in place of the word “passing”.  This is intentional for the normalizing of the death experience in our culture and society. It’s coming for everyone, y’all!  Let’s meet it as prepared as possible!

“Do you think I’ll ever see Grammy again,”  Naomi asked?  I smiled sadly and shook my head.  “Grammy is on her way out,” I answered, “So I’m really glad that we visited her before we started our road trip.”

In early September, a combination of falls, UTI’s, poor hydration, and a 2-day stint in the hospital pushed my Mom into a steep and swift decline in health.  My kids and I visited her at Aegis, her Assisted Living Community, before leaving for a 18-day road trip up the California coast.  Even then, she was unable to sit up, let alone use her wheelchair.  Despite her limitations, she smiled and beamed pride at her UC Santa Cruz-bound granddaughter and her figuring-it-out grandson.

In the middle of my road trip, Mike (my brother, older by 2 years) and I placed Mom on Hospice, as her health continued to slip away.  My prayer for the rest of the road trip was, “Please, God, keep her here until I return home.”

This was really important to me- being at her side when she drew her last breath.  What an honor!  What closure!  -To be present, to hold her hand, to usher her from this life to the next. 

Thankfully, Mom was still there when I returned from the roadtrip.  (We dropped Naomi off at UCSC, and Michael flew home to WI from San Jose.)  From the day that I returned home to the day of Mom’s death, I visited her daily.  Mike visited in the morning, and I in the afternoon. 

Her face still lit up when Mike or I entered her room.  She could smile, raise her right arm, shrug her shoulders, and shift her legs in the bed.  Her expressive language now shrank to “I love you so much” and “Thank you”.  Love and gratitude lingering to the end- very much my mother.

A few days after I returned home, Mike texted:  “You may want to get here now.  It looks like Mom is slipping away.”  Panic flooded my body and I sped the 45-minute drive from my home to Mom.  As I raced along I prayed, “Please God, keep her here until I can be with her.”  To calm myself, I listened to worship music and kept praying and thanking the Lord for my Mom.  As I worshipped, God met me.  

I felt in my chest that God was saying, “I am here.  Trust my goodness.”  As a Christian, I know that God is good, He is just, and His timing is perfect.  If Mom were to die before I reached her, I would be alright.  My heart was being held, my spirit comforted, my anxiety quelled.

Well, turned out that Mom wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.  Earlier that day, Hospice had given her a bath and washed her hair.  We reckoned that Mom’s weak pulse and non-responsiveness was due to her innards settling in after the transition from bath to blankets. By the time I arrived, her pulse was stronger, and she smiled with joy when she saw me at her side.

And this is the struggle of “The In-Between”- that space when a person is actively dying, but not yet dead.  It was wonderful to see Mom smile, to be near her.  At the same time, watching her deteriorate, losing more of herself, was depressing. Yes, she’s alive, but not really.  How much longer will this go on?  Outside I was calm and patient.  Inside I was yelling, “Hurry up and die!”  This is the agony of The In-Between.

 At first, having her to myself in my afternoon visits was luxurious.  I’d tell her about my day, hold her hand, stroke her hair, and read to her.  I told her about God’s steadfast love, His gift of salvation, my desire for her to trust in Jesus so that when it’s my turn to die, I can see her when I get to Heaven.  

But it was also lonely, emotionally uncomfortable, and boring.  Not much fun having a one-way conversation.  

Each day, her expressive language slipped.  It went from “I love you so much,” to “I love you,” to “Argggh arhhh argh,” to a close-eyed smile, to sleep.

On one of my alone-visits, Dan the guitar man from Hospice came and played some calming tunes for Mom.  Then the Chaplain Ryan also arrived for a visit.  (Wouldn’t you know our Chaplain is buddies with my Pastor?)  In a short and simple way, he shared the gospel with and prayed over Mom.  She slept through it all, but I know she enjoyed every tune and heard every word.

The last few days of her life, Mom’s room was the official Hangout.  Mike, Ana (my sister-in-law), and Charlotte (my niece), and I all visited Mom togethe r.  We talked, joked, laughed, drank beer, ordered pizza, watched Mike practice his handstands, and gave Mom a running commentary of  “Country Life Vlog” that played continuously on her TV.

A Few Oddities of Mom’s In-Between

– Hayaku:  The first few days after my return home, Mom would
intermittently call out “Hayaku!”.   This is a Japanese word that means “Hurry up!”, frequently used by parents to their children.   What’s weird is that Mom did not speak Japanese, nor had Mike nor I ever heard that word come out of her mouth.

I told Mom that my church is called Maranatha, an Aramaic phrase that means “Come, Lord!”.  So when Mom called out “Hayaku!” I echoed, “Hayaku, Maranatha, Mama!”  

We wondered:  Who is she telling to Hayaku?  Herself?  Perhaps, as, sometimes, she’d awaken and say “Shit”.  Which we took to mean, “Shit.  I’m still here, in The In-Between.”  

– Arm Raising:  Bedridden, her right arm was the only appendage that Mom could control.  During her Hayaku days, she would often raise that arm straight up, then let it drop down to her side.

Smiling, I’d tell her, “Mom, that sweet chariot is swinging low to carry you home!  Grab ahold!”

It is not uncommon for those in The In-Between to see or hear people who aren’t there.  Like loved ones who’ve already passed on.  (“The In-Between” is a wonderful book full of such stories).  Maybe Mom was reaching out to someone.  I think she was making the most of her faltering abilities, that she was simply stretching her arm, a manifestation of her restlessness, exercising what little control she had left.  I’ll ask God about that when I get to Heaven.

Mom was unconscious the last three days of her life.  No more Hayaku.  No more reaching for that chariot.  No more restlessness.  Just slumber.  Mom had always been a snore-er with a touch of sleep apnea, but now, she slept peacefully with steady, unobstructed (albeit shallow) breaths.

Throughout The In-Between, Mike and I assured her: “We’re going to be fine.  We love you.  We love and will take care of each other.  We’re so proud of you.  Thank you for being a wonderful mother.  It’s okay for you to go.  Go rest.”  

Aegis called early on Saturday, October 4 to say that Mom had passed.  Mike arrived first, and called to tell me that funeral transportation was on its way.  Transport would wait one hour for me to arrive, then they had to take her away.  In case they arrived before I did, did I want them to wait for me?

First I said No.  I felt very much at peace with Mom’s death, and that seeing her empty shell would not add value to me.  I told Mike that they could take her away before I arrived.

But as I drove to Aegis, I thought it might be good for me to see her dead body.  It would be a new facing-my-fear experience.  So I called Mike back and asked that Transport wait for me.

This would be my first time seeing a corpse.  At open casket funerals, I had always declined to view the body.  It seemed spooky-scary to me.  But this was my Mom- it felt right to see her this way.  

Arriving at 7:30am, I kissed Mom’s forehead, which was still warm. Seeing Mom so lifeless and still was a bit surreal.  It was my Mom, but no longer tangibly my Mom.  Like a life-size doll that was supposed to be my mom.  But it was my Mom!  Truly, literally, an out-of-body experience.  And yet I wasn’t afraid anymore.

The funeral transport was a terrific experience.  He arrived at 8am, dressed in a black vest and tie (pants too, but we expected that), and gently explained what he was going to do for Mom.  Mike, Ana, and I watched as he carefully, expertly wrapped Mom in the bedsheet, transferred and secured her to the gurney, covered her with a blanket, then asked again if we had any questions.  Having none and satisfied with his handiwork, we bid Mom Goodbye as he carted her away. 

How I’m Feeling

I thought I would do a lot of crying and feel adrift and unmoored when Mom died.  Wonderously, I am at peace, and I find this odd.  The woman who birthed, educated, disciplined, encouraged, advised, supported and cheered me on is gone.  Of course I’m sad about that.

Yet her memory lives on in me and my family.   Her gentleness, humor, steadfast support; her modeling of grace, responsibility, sacrifice, resilience, resourcefulness, and unwavering love for family and friends.  She imparted that to Mike and to me, and as we continue to impart that to our own children, Naomi Minagi Rosen Kobayashi lives on in all of us.

My Take-Aways

1. Having Your Affairs in Order Brings Peace.  
   
   A Trust:  Fortunately for us, George (Mom’s husband as well as a tax specialist) established a Trust before he died two years ago.  That Trust easily transferred to Mom, and soon will transfer to Mike and me.  
   Possessions:  By the time of George’s death, he had very few worldly possessions, making the cleanout of his apartment fast and easy.  Mom, who was in Assisted Living, had even few possessions.  
   
   Funeral Arrangements:  These were made well in advance by Mike and me.  When both George and Mom’s died, Hospice called the funeral home, and all went according to plan.  Mike and I lifted not a single finger.
   
   Having George and Mom’s affairs in order allowed my family to be fully present for both deaths.  We could focus on our parents, with zero stress or distraction of “What are we supposed to be doing about finances and funerals and what about all the stuff in her house?!?”
   
   
2. Let Others Be With You. 
   
   It’s so easy to isolate and try to carry every burden by yourself.  The greatest joy in life is our nurtured relationships, and the people who love you truly WANT to be with you and support you during difficult Seasons of Life.  Let them!  
   
   Having Mike, Ana, and Charlotte with me was calming, comforting, and really made Mom’s passing a beautiful experience.  While Mom wasn’t able to participate in conversation, I’m confident that she heard and took pleasure in our musings and conversations. 

3. Fall Back on Your Faith
   
   God met me in my need.  Sure, I would have liked to have been there when Mom took her last breath. AND, I’m completely at peace having not been there.  My Heavenly Father knows and provides everything I need.  Never before has “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil” been so real and comforting to me.  

Losing Mom reminded me that life is best lived with love, order, and intention. In the end, it wasn’t the things she owned that mattered—it was the peace she left behind. As you organize your own spaces and affairs, do it as an act of love for those who will come after you. The greatest gift we can give our families is clarity, comfort, and the assurance that we lived well and left well.