A Gift From My Mother

This past March 28, 2025, my mother would have been 106-years old.  She went to be with the Lord September 2013, at the age of 94.

It’s interesting what we remember, and when we remember certain things. I remember that I was sitting beside my mother’s hospital bed, gently stroking her forehead and brow. She was barely responsive, with tubes to hydrate her and wires connecting her to machines that monitored her every vital function.

Mom was fighting to hang on, and as I watched her struggle, I wondered how I would feel, and what void would be left when she passed? Many thoughts involving death crossed my mind that evening, including those of my own mortality. I wondered what it would be like when my own time came. Would it be similar to what mom was experiencing? Who would be around me, or would I be alone?

As I thought about eternity, and in “Whom” I had placed my faith pursuant to same, I remembered a question a self-professed atheist had once asked me: “Isn’t taking solace in nothing – nothing?” My response to him had been: “That, my friend, is a question you must answer for yourself.”

As I watched my mother clinging to life, I realized I wasn’t afraid of death. I realized I am prepared because, when my last breath is taken here on earth, my first will be taken with, and in the presence of, my Lord. I was taking solace in “He” who keeps my soul.

Here’s my point. I was experiencing one of the most profoundly personal moments of my life. I was facing finality. Death had been making the rounds on my mother’s floor in the ICCU that evening – but the sting of his presence was gone, because my fear of the unknown was gone. By faith, I had made a cathexis, not only in eternal-life assurance, but also where and with “Whom” I would spend it.

As I looked at my mother, I knew that I wasn’t remotely ready to die, but more importantly, I realized I wasn’t afraid of dying. It was one of the most deeply moving personal experiences I had had with Jesus since becoming a Christian. I knew that I could say with confidence that I wasn’t afraid of dying, that death truly wasn’t the end – it was the beginning.

My mother didn’t pass that night and, contrary to the opinions of her ghoulish, impersonal doctors, I gave explicit instructions for her to be treated as aggressively as necessary to give her every opportunity to live.

As I commented some days later, I realized that in the waning moments of her life, my mother was blessed to share one more pearl of understanding with me. God used her to reinforce that I needn’t be afraid, that my faith, my solace is in “Something and Someone” who is real.

The day following that evening was my cousin’s funeral. He had passed just a couple days prior. I would be unable to attend his funeral, because that same day I was scheduled to debate Al Sharpton, Marc Morial and Walter Fauntroy at the National Press Club in Washington, D.C.

Only four people knew the drama being played out in my life as I arrived in D.C. the following morning, and prepared for my debate. As I would later say, I fully expected to receive a call during the debate informing me that my mother had passed.  But, no such call was to be forthcoming.  Mother fully recovered through the day and spent another two and one half years with me/us.

Some would later comment on the strength it took to get through that day. I said, it wasn’t strength – it was assurance. It was the reality of that assurance that God shared with me through my mother the night before.

Don’t get me wrong – I was feeling the weight of her impending passing. I didn’t want to lose my mother here on earth at that time. I still wish I could turn the clock of her life back to a time when she was vibrant and strong. It was and is painful looking at someone so dear to me, whose face at that time showed of her 92 years. Today it hurts as I realize that the one thing I regret most, and cannot change in my life, is not sharing more time with my mother. She deserved more from me. She was always there for me no matter what.

But, thanks to God’s working through her, the words of Fannie Crosby’s hymn – “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine … echoes of mercy, whispers of love, I in my Savior am happy and blest … watching and waiting, looking above” – have a more personal meaning than ever before.

I’m glad for every additional day and hour that mom was still with me here on earth, but what a comfort to know I’ll see her in eternity. And mom, please find grandmom and tell her I look forward to worshipping God throughout eternity with you both. I love you much, young lady.