Have you ever noticed that nothing written In Memoriam is ever adequate to the situation? I honestly didn't think I would be composing this tribute for a few more decades, but as the reality of death is that it comes to everyone unexpectedly, I'm now sitting at my computer, trying to compose something in memory of my beloved mother-in-law, Judi.
A week ago, as I was sitting in church preparing to join my small group in leading worship, I got a phone call. My husband was calling from work, telling me that his mother had died. It was unexpected. She was only 51, and while she wasn't in the greatest of health, she had no life-threatening conditions. The family was at Disneyland for a final family vacation before the girls graduated from college. She went to the hospital for what the doctors thought was a minor heart attack. It turned out to be a pulmonary embolism, and then she was gone.
A lot of people complain about having trouble with their inlaws. That was never the case with me. Judi and I were kindred spirits from almost the moment we met. (Jake is wonderful too.) She was an unabashed geek, had read all the books that I had and then some, and had dabbled in every art that I had ever wanted to try (plus a few that I had never thought about). She had a real eye for beauty and a real ability to transfer it to her current medium. She worked in photography, oils and watercolors, fabric art and multi-media sculpture, books and beads, dolls and dairy farming. Her favorite room in the house was the kitchen. Her least favorite was the laundry room. She was a competent, confident woman who always made me welcome, even during my lower periods, and to be perfectly honest, I always felt a little inadaquate stepping into her shoes as the primary woman in Seth's life (a feeling she laughed at). There was so much that I wanted to learn from her, and she was always willing to teach.
It seems too soon. I loved Judi. I was looking forward to decades under her mentorship in the areas we had in common. Whenever I had a sewing question or a cooking question, I would call her first. She was always willing to dispense some experience and share her joy in the things she enjoyed. She called me a "willing victim" because I didn't tire of asking questions that incurred floods of information.
And there were so many people that I wanted to introduce to her at some point in the future. I wanted my friend Theresa to know her. I think Judi could have overcome some barriers. And just this morning, as I was enumerating the wonderful things that she did to a couple of well-wishers, I discovered another kindred spirit for her (she had oodles, especially online) in my pastor's wife. And poor Boogaloo won't get to know her Nana as she should. She probably won't retain many memories of the nice lady who lived in the house by the cows. I know that from experience. I lost both of my grandmothers before I was seven, and my memories are indistinct.
I feel like all of these lost opportunities and regrets should be weighing me down, but I also find that I can't bounce too low. This is where faith comes in. Christians disagree on whether we enter heaven immediately when we die or we sleep until the Lord comes back and judges the quick and the dead, but either way, Judi's next conscious thought upon opening her eyes will be the face of Jesus, the incarnation of perfect Truth and Beauty who entered this often ugly, persistently deceitful world in part to claim her. Judi was a consumate believer, the one who often quelled my fundamentalist worries with the reminder that "God is in control." Her faith penetrated every level of her being, and she had no difficulty lifting up her hands in praise or prayer.
She once told me, "I can't see why all these people get so involved in these fantasy worlds when the real world is so magical as it is." That's a little ironic coming from someone who made fairies for fun, but I take the point. This world and this life are just as magical as anything we can dream up in our heads, and glimpses from the Kingdom of God that is to come are more epic than anything we can imagine. Judi has seen the veil drawn back and stepped onto those wide green shores. Everything that held her back or made her ashamed has been stripped away. Her tears (and there were a few in her life) have been dried, and she now looks on the face of Love. Go with our blessing, Mom. Rest in peace.
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