When I heard my mother had died I was at a small email/call centre beside the ‘plaza mayor’ in the heart of Cochabamba, Bolivia. Who knew—my life with mother began in Belfast and ended in the heart of South America in the Andean plateau. I was speaking with my wife, Elizabeth and heard the words, ‘She’s gone’—I mumbled something about it being the best—an end to her downward spiral of declining health —but the sentiments were really a result of shock.
What I do remember is coming outside and hearing the bells of the cathedral ringing—a mid 17th century edifice built by the Spanish. I sat in the park watching the hustle of the family celebrations. There were young children playing, pigeons flying, sunshine streaming, parents admiring and bells gonging. I was sitting in unbelief and then appreciating the ancient bells as a coronation canticle for my mother’s departure.
What happens when we die? Does the computer simply turn off—everything receding to black? Is it soul sleep— waiting for Christ’s celebrative and culminating return? I confess the data is incomplete! But I hold onto Christ’s endearing words to the penitent thief, ‘Today,you will be with me in paradise.’ or the Apostle Paul’s musing that ‘to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord’. The only way we will know for sure is when we make our own departure—but of all the options I like the latter the most.
Paradise sounds ‘inviting, restful, joyful’—a fitting place for my saintly mother. I believe Jesus chose his words carefully so I find reassurance in his comforting words to the seeking, hurting, hopeful, bandit. Paradise—a temporary reprieve from the world’s pain while we wait for the kingdom’s total unveiling.
Be well mother—deeply well—it won’t be long until we are reunited. Belfast-Toronto-Cochabamba-Paradise! Each time I hear a cathedral gong I will think of you mom and offer a prayer of gratitude for your 87 years of blessing. You are sorely missed—another motherless child treading mother earth but paradise awaits.
