My mother died yesterday!
When I called my mother on monday morning she was not well. In fact she was so ill that she was not able to talk to me an the phone. Immediately I went by car 5 hours drive to be with her. When I arrived she was very ill, but still it was so good to be with her. I was able to spend the entire night with her in the old people's home where she had been admitted the very same day I arrived! All except one of my brothers who was not well himself were able to talk to her and take a proper fare well with her. Her last greetings to us was: We will meet in heaven! She was in great pain during the night but clear in her mind and able to talk with us. In the late morning just said: Dear Jesus, dear Jesus! And then she fell a sleep and after awhile she peacefully went to be with our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.
I loved my mother. She was a most wonderful mother. I am so thankful to the Lord for allowing her to become 85 years old. May her memory for always be blessed!

Here is what I wrote after one of my last visits to her:
The last few days I have been visiting my mother. She is growing old, approaching 85 years. The body is failing her more and more, and she is not well at all. But her inner being is younger than ever. In spite of her pain and diseases she said to me to night: �When I lay down to sleep, I tell myself and my God that I still like to live. I enjoy life! Is it wrong of me thinking like that at my age?� I assured her that it was right of her to like to live in spite of her circumstances.

When I looked at her, she was so beautiful; her eyes so bright and full of life. Her body has become fragile and delicate like an artwork of fine china. Her white hair is like a crown of life. Even though she has shrunk to become seven inches shorter than she used to be, she is a greater person than ever. To me, even the hunch she has developed on her back, has a strange beauty. There is a kind of an inner radiance of beauty breaking forth in the ugliest expression of her aging body.

After being with my mother I wrote this poem:

The face of an old person
To be somebody
Is to look at the face of an old person
And see the beauty of God.
The soft lines of wrinkles look like
A piece of classic art work
The hardships of life
Have left their beautiful marks
The scars and the folds
Seem to be engrafted
By a great artist
The face of an old believer
Carries the dignity of a sacred life
That dignity of faith, hope and love
Endure all tests
And last forever!