by Debora Morris

Created on: April 14, 2009

Some people say Mom just gave up. I don't believe she did. I believe that while she was sleeping that rainy, autumn afternoon last November, God, in His infinite wisdom came to her and said: Nancy, you are so very tired, I've prepared a place for you in Heaven and am going to take you home.

I believe this place God prepared for Mom has many windows. From one window Mom can watch the ocean waves bounce onto the warm, soft sand. From another, she can look out upon a garden overflowing with red roses, yellow petunias, orange marigolds, purple mums, and white alyssum. But the window that is most beloved to Mom is the Pennsylvania window that changes seasons at her command. She can look over her Pennsylvania hills wrapped in the lush green grass of summer, admire Pennsylvania maples and oaks cloaked in the crimson of autumn, indulge in the winter Pennsylvania landscape blanketed with fresh white snow, or marvel at tiny buds of crocuses as they peak their heads out of the cool Pennsylvania dirt in searching for the spring sun.

God has not imprisoned Mom within the walls of her room. There are no locks on her doors; there are no doors in heaven. I believe Mom will spend most of eternity outside in her bare feet, walking along the sand, rustling in the leaves, playing in the snow.

God has given Mom a very blessed gift: Freedom.

Freedom from the pain and heartache she suffered for so very long on this earth. Freedom from the emotional and physical abuse she endured for fifty long years, praying everyday to God for strength until she became so worn-out that she prayed to him to carry her Home. Mom now has the freedom to do all the things she loved to do before becoming my father's slave: ice skate, dance, ride a bike, sled ride; eat potato chips and watch Scooby Doo on late night TV. And while Mom is munching on her chips watching Scooby Doo, she has one of her famous pies baking in a state-of-the-arc oven in the large, well-stocked kitchen God has provided for her.

God has mended Mom's broken heart.

Last October, a few weeks before Mom died, I wrote her an email and told her that I was afraid I would wake-up one morning and find that my Mommy was gone. On that November morning I wrote this memoir and every morning since, my fear has become reality. I never ever expected her to leave quite so suddenly. But in the years since she's been gone, I feel her presence with me and I believe she is watching over me. And I as much as I miss her, I am comforted by a strong, unrelenting Autumn Wisdom telling me that after all the years of physical and emotional suffering, Mom has finally found peace.

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