Forty long years ago, on Tuesday, March 16, 1976, I woke at 5am, only to discover that my mother was called home — just a few minutes before I woke.
I miss you, mom
I was eighteen — and so not ready to lose my mom.
Several months before I was born, my mom almost died. The doctors all thought she would die before I was born. Even worse, they tried to convince my mom to terminate the pregnancy — me — because they were certain that I wouldn’t live — or that I would be born with physical or mental disabilities — if I lived long enough to be born.
They also told her the chances were great that she wouldn’t live long enough to see my birth, and that we would both die.
But she refused. She told them it was in God’s hands.
I guess God had plans for me, because I was born on April 30th — a healthy, baby girl — and a miracle baby, according to those doctors.
These same doctors then proceeded to tell us that with a serious heart condition, and unable to withstand surgery, that she could leave us at any time. This was probably true, as she was always weak, with lots of problems, most of them occurring because of the heart condition.
But my mom was a praying mom . . . and she told me when I was seventeen that she had prayed since first being hospitalized, asking God to allow her to live long enough to raise her children. I was the youngest.
God granted her request.
God called my mom home after my eighteenth birthday. She was there to see me graduate high school, but I had only one more Christmas with my mom.
It was time. God told her, “It’s done. Now it’s time to come home.”
Mothers are special . . . I’ll always miss my mother.
Someday soon I’ll see her again. I’ll join her, and my dad, when God says, “It’s time to come home” to me.
Is it okay if I ask for your prayers? For those who’ve gone — and those who are left behind.
© 2016 DJ Mynatt