When Mom’s Not Home
I am a blessed man. I grew up with parents that were nurturing, encouraging and kind. They set up boundaries for us that loosened as we got older. They looked for ways to help their children to find their way in the world. My father passed away at the age of 92 when I was 63 years old. He suffered from Lewy Body Dementia for almost eight years before he died. It was a long, hard goodbye for his wife and family. And I sorely missed being able to talk things over with him as he progressed into dementia.
My Mom passed away at age 95 this past April. Mom and I had a close relationship for 70 years. She worked hard to care for her children when we were growing up. I had health issues and Mom was always there for me during my surgeries and illnesses and episodes. I had a stuffy nose from allergies that often extended into asthma attacks. Mom told me that as a baby and toddler when I was wheezing from asthma she would pat me on the back and whisper over and over, ‘breathe Paul, breathe’.
Growing up Mom encouraged me in my hobbies and creative ventures. I wrote a script when I was eight or nine and Mom and Dad came to the old chicken coup to watch me and my younger brother and sister put on our one act play. Later in sixth grade Mom typed up my hand written play about George Washington that my classmates put on for our school.
She encouraged my writing, photography and film making ventures. She showed her students at school my film, The Great Chase. She acted in one of my short films. And when I was the editor/reporter/photographer of a small town weekly in Warroad, Minnesota Mom had a paid subscription to my newspaper.
She went back to school to be a music teacher when I was in elementary school. We lived out in the country then in rural southwest Kansas and rode the bus to and from school. Life changed for us and there were times that we got home from school before Mom got home. It was a new normal for us with no parental supervision and sometimes there were dilemmas and squabbles. But eventually she would get home and go right to work in the kitchen making our supper. And when Mom was home the squabbles stopped.
It was then I began to notice a difference in the way things felt when Mom was home and when Mom wasn’t home. This feeling became more apparent as I got older. I remember early mornings when Mom would be up before anyone else. As I lay in bed I could hear pots and pans rattle in the kitchen as Mom cooked breakfast for all of us.
For close to18 years when I’d get up there would be a glass of juice, a piece of toast and a tall glass of Cream of Wheat waiting for me on the table. Yet I never thought about how much work it was for Mom to climb out of bed every morning to take care of her family. Even if she had a bad night or one of us was sick in the night, Mom would still get up and fix us all breakfast.
On Sundays I would be sleeping in until the last few minutes before it was time to leave for church and the pots and pans would be rattling. I felt safe and secure knowing Mom was taking care of things, getting ready to put in a chicken or roast or something to bake in the oven so her family would have a nice dinner waiting when we got home.
When we were in junior high and high school Mom was a classroom teacher and we would mostly come home to an empty house. Since I was more of an introvert than the rest of my siblings I usually got home first. I enjoyed being alone in the house but there was a marked difference between how it felt when I first got home and when Mom got home. Suddenly the house seemed brighter and warmer and more alive when Mom was there.
She would pause while getting supper organized and ask me about my day or tell me stories about other teachers or her students. And I would try out some of my latest jokes on Mom. Sometimes she thought they were funny but then other times she didn’t so I knew I’d have to change them. At that time I was thinking about being a stand up comedian because I liked to make people laugh. Especially Mom and Dad.
After high school I enrolled in Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville that was in driving distance, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. I applied for jobs and took proficiency tests for college credit. The classes I ended up in were interesting but I felt like a misfit. One night I woke up for the second time in a month curled up in bed with a horrible pain in my lower right side and wasn’t sure what to do. I could hardly move it hurt so bad. Mom was downstairs getting ready for her day and after my younger brother and sister left for school I felt very nauseous and the pain had finally subsided some. I had an upstairs bedroom and I hurried down the steps still in my underwear and got to the bathroom just in time to throw up.
Mom came to check on me and when I told her about the pain she took my temperature and had me put on my jeans and a shirt and shoes. Soon I was in the emergency room at the local hospital. By that time I wasn’t hurting anymore and my temperature was down to 99.9. A young lady doctor was acting disgusted with me as she told me to get dressed. “We don’t even worry when babies have temperatures of 99.9!” she scolded me.
I was buttoning my shirt when our family doctor came in with Mom. “What are you doing, getting dressed?” The gray bearded doctor asked me. “You need to have your appendix out.”
I looked at Mom who looked worried. “I told him this is the second time you said you’ve had that pain.” Mom said. “All your symptoms point to…”
“An appendectomy,” the doctor interrupted. “An emergency appendectomy!”
And so that’s what I had. After surgery the pain was intense and I lay in bed grimacing, hoping it would soon pass. The doctor came in and said my appendix was on the verge of rupturing and although they got it out in time it was going to be very painful at first.
Mom had taken the day off from school and was watching over me. Even though it hurt I was okay, knowing Mom was there with me.
She was with me through many of my trials in life. Through a divorce, through my second wife’s tubal pregnancy emergency surgery, through the loss of my son. And on ordinary days as well.
Mom started calling me on Fridays during my divorce when I was a single Dad of two toddlers. She encouraged me and counseled me. Through letters and phone calls and later emails and texts and video calls we were there for each other.
When Dad died Mom seemed to need to hear from me more and more often. If I was busy and didn’t answer an email soon enough she would call to make sure that I was okay. And if I didn’t get her regular emails I would pray and hope she was okay.
Then finally, one morning she didn’t write at her usual time but I had contractors coming to work on the house. I sent Mom a short email so she wouldn’t worry about me and went to the basement where it would be the most quiet. Not long after the banging and sawing started my brother called with the news.
“Mom died this morning.” my brother Tim said.
And that was that. Suddenly Mom stopped writing me emails, or sending texts or calling to check on me. Sometimes I think of something to tell her then I remember Mom’s not here anymore.
The hardest part of grieving I think, is when you realize the finality of death. There is nothing you could have done, or could do to change things. All we can do is go on.
But I’m thankful that Mom had a strong faith and that she was trusting her Savior, Jesus Christ for her salvation. I am trusting in Jesus, too. So I know that even though Mom’s not here with me anymore, soon I’ll be home with Mom. Then I know things will be brighter and warmer and more alive. But for here and now, Mom’s not home in this world anymore. And I carry on.
Brothers, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you will not grieve like the rest, who are without hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, we also believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in Him.—–1 Thessalonians 4.13-14
Now I make known to you, brethren, the gospel which I preached to you, which also you received, in which also you stand, by which also you are saved, if you hold fast the word which I preached to you, unless you believed in vain. For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received, that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures,
—–1 Corinthians 15. 1-4
Emily Ann Siemens Combs
June 16,1929 – April 17, 2025