The last few days have been rough – but not on Mary. Our much-loved wife, mom, sister, and grandma has slept away the days and nights in complete comfort, the recipient of endless loving care by her husband Bervin and grown children, Luke, Julia, Karl, Andrew, Jo, Stina, and Marta.

Mary, a nurse since 1966, was thrilled when two of her daughters, Julia and Stina, became nurses, too. And they were never more challenged than in recent days as they faithfully, diligently met their mom’s every physical need. They jumped into action with every chime of their phone alarms, around the clock – administering different drugs at different times, rolling Mary’s sleeping body every few hours to prevent bed sores, keeping her clean on a schedule, changing bed sheets, regulating the temperature in her room. Whatever was needed, they eagerly did it. As Julia said, “She never let us do anything for her, always wanting to do for us instead. So it’s very satisfying to help her now.”

The rest of us took turns sitting with Mary, enjoying her company as she slept. Knowing she might be hearing us even while unconscious, we read her many greeting cards, recited her favorite Scriptures, sang hymns for her, and talked to her freely. Bervin reminisced with her during their nights together and never entered or left the room without stroking her arm or caressing her face with his hand. Her cheeks and forehead were regularly covered with his kisses.

This afternoon I was sitting on the bed next to her, legs under the covers next to hers, leaning up against the headboard as she soundly slept. Computer hymns were playing quietly in the background as I held her hand and described the pictures on different greeting cards and read their messages. I looked up any Scriptures that were mentioned and read them to her, too. She continued to take about 8 breaths per minute as she had for the past 24 hours.

After reading all the cards, I set them aside and picked up her well-marked Bible, opening to the Psalms. Suddenly I thought I heard a quiet noise come from Mary’s mouth. It was not a moan, not a groan, nothing negative. It sounded like “Ahhh” going from high pitch to low.

I scooched down in the bed right next to her, putting my ear in front of her open mouth and heard a second one. “Ahhh.” And then a third and fourth. That’s when I jumped out of the bed and raced to find the others.

But only Luke was there, in the kitchen. “Come quick. Your mom is making some funny noises, and I’m not sure what’s happening.”

We raced back to the bedroom together, and he too put his ear by her mouth, hearing another “Ahhh.”

He dashed from the room and out the front door to get Bervin, who was cutting the lawn. (A few minutes earlier he’d wondered aloud if he should leave Mary long enough to do that, and since she’d been stable, we had encouraged him to go.)

I put my ear back near Mary’s mouth and she was still “talking.”

“Ahhh.”

She hadn’t moved during this time – not a flutter of the eye or a twitch of the brow.

Bervin rushed in with Luke right behind him, and bent over Mary’s face as she “spoke” one final “Ahhh” to him. It sounded like she was making a wonderful discovery or experiencing a deep satisfaction like, “Ahhh… I understand now!”

Then she grew completely quiet. No more breaths. No more sounds. And we three stared intently at her face, holding our breath as we waited for hers. And surprising us all, she simply closed her mouth…. as if to say, “That’s all.”

Bervin released her to go to heaven and then covered her face with a loving mix of kisses and tears as Mary flew into the presence of Jesus.

Their other adult children were, for the first time in two weeks, a distance from the house. Mary had repeatedly told all of us, back when she was still talking, “Why are you guys hanging around here? It’s a beautiful day. Go to the beach!” She said it again and again as she rested in bed, but no one felt like going.

Today, though, they’d finally decided to walk down there together, since Mary’s breathing hadn’t changed since the day before. And as Mary made her exit from the earth, they were all looking over the soothing, bright blue waters of Lake Michigan, talking about their mom.

That’s when Luke’s text told them to quickly hurry home, and they raced back in a group, gathering around Mary’s bed to absorb the startling news that she was gone. We stood in a circle of love all the way around her, unrolling paper towels to mop up tears and blow noses. Bervin began to sing, in a wobbly but confident voice, “Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in his wonderful face….”

And I joined in… “And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.” We all realized this was exactly Mary’s new reality. Her eyes were on Jesus, and she was looking into his wonderful face. Awesome!

If there is such a thing as a perfect death, this was it. And Mary had finished well. Very well.

“We are fully confident, and we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 5:8, NLT)