Mom’s Last Door

Today, the Memorial Mass celebrating my mother’s life is being said.

I am over 2000 miles away. Ours has been a long-distance relationship for almost two decades.

The last time I saw my mother was four years ago. Increasingly, we shared physical disability. Soon, neither was able to travel.

Most Sundays, I wrote a weekly letter to her, just a page or two. She was no longer able to send email so for the last 2 ½ years of her life, I wrote her a letter.

She did not write back. The give-and-take of regular correspondence was not the purpose of the letters. Mom wanted to know about my life, the day-to-day of it, and so I told her.

Some weeks I wrote her about Zen Buddhism within the context of her own devout Catholicism.  It pleased her that I practiced a kind of “faith,” even if that is not how I would have described my practice.

Once that distinction would have mattered but in writing the letters, the word faith fit. Mom had a deeply personal relationship with God, an unwavering faith and trust in His grace. She believed “Let go and let God.”

Mom respected people’s beliefs; they need not mirror her own. She knew how to listen and many turned to her. She showed me I do not have to agree with people but I do have to hear them.

It took me decades to appreciate that in my mother but when I did, it opened so many doors for me.

I think it always opened doors for her, too:

Let my last door open into the light of late spring.

May it be shadowed with the announcements of those who walked

into darkness before me—right foot disappearing first,

body leaning into the unknown, trailing hand making mostly

mysterious gestures: I’m all right or come along; it’s what I thought

or it’s not what I thought.” *

Mom died in winter–in Wyoming–her memorial service is in late spring. Just two days ago it snowed.

Spring still lags. I know she would appreciate that.

An avid gardener, Mom knew late spring better than most. She accepted its elusiveness and never doubted it.

I have no doubt its light opened her last door.

*Wendy Bishop, “My Last Door” excerpt from My Last Door, Anhinga Press, Tallahassee, FL 2007.

15 thoughts on “Mom’s Last Door

    1. Thank you, Dad. I’m so glad you liked the post; that means so much to me. Even this far away, I agree that the weekend was sadness and joy. This morning, Kevin sent me a video of “Morning Has Broken.” I teared up again. It was so beautiful. I love you, Dad.


    1. Thank you, Ann. I have a copy of the letters. My siblings kept me up-to-date with her health issues so I could write to her about those as well. She had great difficulty hearing on the telephone as she was completely deaf in one ear and mostly deaf in the other. As I mentioned in another comment, I still find myself thinking about writing a letter. Again, thank you.


  1. Your description of your evolving relationship with your mom brought tears to my eyes. Although you couldn’t be with each other physically, it sounds as if, toward the end of her life, you had a connection that went beyond proximity. Peace to her and to you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is beautiful. I feel sure your Mom is very proud and understanding of your distance and not being able to travel to her Mass. I pray that she finds peace in her passing and that you do too. With love, Dona

    Liked by 1 person

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