Harold Camping

He might have a little something in common with my mom. Harold Camping keeps predicting the world will end, and then it turns out it doesn't. Mom keeps thinking it's time for her to go, and then it turns out it's not.

Mom was sure her time was up Monday night. One of the calls she made that night was to me. Which was funny since I was in the living room. It reminded me of when my older girls were sharing a room upstairs. If one got sick or needed me, they would just text or call me. Downstairs. It makes me smile. Anyway, Mom called and the following conversation ensued.

Mom: Gwen, is there anything you would like to hear from me before I'm done?

Gwen: [walking into bedroom to talk without phones] What do you mean?

Mom: I mean, I feel like I'm going to die tonight. I'm not sure. He hasn't told me.

Then Mom told me a long story that ended up with what she considered to be a "betrayal" on her part. She had spoken to another family member about a past sin in my life.

Gwen: No, Mom, I don't feel betrayed.

Mom: I can see how you would, because I learned in my class at Calvary that forgiveness means never speaking of it again. [Wrong teaching, imho.]

Gwen: No, I don't feel betrayed. Mom, what I like to hear from you is that you love me.

Mom: I know and I don't do that. I don't verbalize. Karis is working on me.

Pause.

Mom: I do love you. You taught me forgiveness and faith. And being married taught me the hypocrisy of blame. That's why God puts us in families, so He can love us and teach us, and love us and teach us, and love us and teach us.

But then Tuesday morning came, and it turned out Mom's time hadn't. Dave had the insight to ask her if she was disappointed. She said no.

Fast forward to the wee hours of Thursday morning.

Mom rang for me and asked me to get her a tiny bit of morphine. Her legs were cramping, and she was remembering how Dad's muscles had seized up during his final hours. Again, she thought it was her time. I asked if I could sit with her and she said no. I rubbed her legs and the cramping seemed to ease. By the time I had heated her rice bag, Mom had turned to her side and gone back to sleep. At that point, I thought maybe Harold had made another mistake. Sure enough, I got to enjoy another day with Mom today.

There's no way to call it. With Dad, I spent a few different nights on the couch instead of going home, because I was sure he would die that night. But he didn't. And the night he did actually cross to the other side, I went home, thinking, "Nah. Dad won't die tonight." I know someday, probably soon, Mom's time will come and I will have to say good-bye for now. I'm just glad her time hasn't arrived quite yet.

Go, Harold.