“Mom passed this morning.”

The call and message from my brother was expected, as we had noted the significant deterioration in her condition that had taken place during the early days of the week. Caregivers had told us that she probably wouldn’t be here much longer. They were right.

By the time Kathy and I arrived later that morning, the body had already been taken to the funeral home, which was not a problem for us since we had been seeing her regularly The last few times we saw her in her bed, she looked as if she was already gone. Her frame was reduced literally to skin and bone. She slept most days, and in our last visits we talked to her with her eyes usually closed—sometimes she would respond, sometimes not.

My Dad, also a resident of this care facility due to his advancing Alzheimer’s, was glad to see us, but because his short term memory is gone, he didn’t remember that she had passed and he’d watched Mom’s body be taken away. Every few minutes, he would wonder where Marge had gone, or what she was doing. And every time we shared as gently as we could that she had gone to Heaven, the sadness would overtake his face, tears would well up, and he’d ask, “Did I know that?”

We talked, we prayed, and we even took him out for lunch—a rarity once he moved here to be with Mom (she could not have left, and so he would not). We tried to encourage him about his clear love and devotion to Mom, his desire to move in where she was so they could be together. He agreed in the moment, but then would ask, “Where’s Marge?”

I’d seen Mom two days before she passed—an extra visit I made because we knew the end was close. She was better than I’d seen her 48 hours before, sitting in her chair. My sister and nieces were there, and another niece and nephew had been there in the morning, all to say final goodbyes. The night before she went home, my brother and sister-in-law were there, and it was with them that a final sweet memory was left. She was responsive that evening, and they asked if she’d like to sing some hymns. Mom had once been an incredible soprano soloist, but age and illness had robbed her of that beautiful, clear voice. She said it would hurt too much to sing, so they asked about singing over her. They chose “Blessed Assurance” because she indicated it was her favorite hymn. So, they sang, and when they got to the chorus, Mom joined in with power (and pitch!) that was startling and good. “This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long. This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long.”

That was her final testimony. She loved Jesus and her hope was in him to save her and take her home to Heaven. She wasn’t particularly outspoken most times about her faith, but interestingly, in her care facility she surprised us with her concern that people know Jesus. When she still could, she would guide her wheelchair into people’s rooms to pray with them, to tell them how they could be saved. She asked about loved ones and was so happy when we could tell her that, yes, they believed in Jesus. She prayed for them. And if they didn’t believe, she prayed that they would. She was probably more openly evangelistic in those last months than in the years before. Her dementia often led to thinking lots of things were true that weren’t, but it didn’t rob her of her memory and of her ability to express her faith.

When my brother got home that night, he looked up the lyrics of “Blessed Assurance,” and found that it was not only a good gospel hymn (written by one of the great hymnwriters of her time, Fanny Crosby), it was incredibly appropriate in those moments before Mom’s assurance was realized.

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!

Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!

Heir of salvation, purchase of God,

Born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long.

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long.

Perfect submission perfect delight,

Visions of rapture now burst on my sight

Angels descending, bring from above

Echoes of mercy whispers of love.

Perfect submission all is at rest,

I in my Savior am happy and bless’d,

Watching and waiting, looking above

Filled with his goodness, lost in his love.

It’s all true. Jesus offers himself to all who believe that he is the Son of God who died for our sins and rose again. Mom was absolutely clear on that. She had believed and was assured of where she was headed after she died. That assurance proved to be a foretaste of the “glory divine” that was coming so quickly for her.

I’ll miss my Mom—even though I won’t miss seeing what she had to endure these past years. But I don’t have to wonder where she is. Carried by the angels into the presence of Jesus, she is using all of her newfound freedom from bodily weakness to sing in her beautiful soprano voice, praising her Savior all the day long.