My Story of Keeping Hope During My Mother’s Passing

Earlier this year, in late January, my mother was admitted to the hospital. She had a cough, but she couldn’t cough and she couldn’t swallow her food when she ate, so my dad brought her in to see what was wrong. 

The hospital put a tube in her to get all the phlegm out of her lungs, and they attached some type of food bag to her so that she can have food in her system as they ran more tests. 

My dad called me to let me know. My sister flew home to see her, and she stayed for some days. I was trying not to be nervous that this could be anything, that my mother wouldn’t get better. I believed that tube would come out and that she would be fine. That’s where I put my faith, and I was sticking to it. I didn’t even really cry or worry or bother going home because I believed she would get better.

There were talks in our family group text that she may have lung cancer. I rebuked it in Jesus’ name right away, declared healing, and said that she didn’t have cancer, that we don’t have to worry. I asked for prayer from others, believing that she would be healed, the tube will be removed, and that she would be able to return home, healthy. 

A few days later, my dad said they took the tube out! The doctors had apparently felt she was well enough to remove the tube. They were able to get at least most of the phlegm out, and I praised God! My sister decided it was okay to get back to where she lived, and she flew back that Sunday afternoon. I believed this was it, what we’d been praying for. She was getting better, and God was making things happen how I wanted. 

Not much later, while I was at work, I got a call from my dad. He told me that the doctor said that she may not get better and that he’d need to consider pumping her with morphine (or some drug) to numb the pain and let her pass. 

I was shocked. I thought things were better. I thought she was going home. I was instantly mad at the doctor for even suggesting such a thing (forgive me, God, for my anger at them), and I was in shock and I wanted to cry. The fact that the doctors would even bring that up. I had not thought whatsoever that it was that bad. 

When I hung up with my dad, I broke down crying. I couldn’t handle it. My mother could die? My dad could make the decision to let them let her die? 

I didn’t know what to do. I cried. I prayed? I’m sure I prayed. It was probably a cry/prayer/declaration thing. I called my husband and told him, asked if we could go home. I needed to be there. He said okay, that I could come pick him up. I told my boss through my tears the details, and he said I could take all the time that I need. So I went and picked up my husband from work, drove to our apartment, quickly packed, and got on the road to the hospital. 

I couldn’t talk much on the 3-hour drive. I was still in shock. I asked my husband to call his dad - a pastor - to see if he’d come pray over my mother. He said he would. I praised God. I wanted a miracle. A miracle. So the fact that he was willing to make the drive gave me comfort that maybe one would happen. 

When I got to the hospital and went up to see my mom, I tried not to cry. She looked… Her lips were dry yet sticky with some mucus stuff or whatever they put on her lips. There was a tube down her again. She looked so thin and sad. Even her hair was grayer than I remembered. 

Seeing her there, lying down in the bed, I prayed to God and asked for her healing, in Jesus’ name. I messaged my staff at work to pray as well. I messaged any small group I was in or had been in to pray as well. I messaged my high school friends and my college friends. I wanted everyone praying because I wanted a miracle. 

God, please, let this be the time that she is healed, I prayed. 

Joshua and I stayed the whole week. I couldn’t fathom leaving her in that state, with my father still struggling to decide if he’d allow them to pull the plug, take the feeding tube out that’s giving her life or put a trachy in instead and stretch her life a little longer. 

One day when I was in prayer, I felt God said to keep hope, hope for my mother. So that’s what I was praying for, for hope. I didn’t know what that fully meant that, but I was hoping for complete healing, in Jesus’ name, for my mother. 

Two days after my husband and I arrived back home to visit my mom and be there for my dad, on Wednesday, the doctors came into the hospital room. They said they got the test results back, and they were positive for lung cancer and that her current state couldn’t survive treatment. They told us that my mother was dying and that we need to contact hospice.

My mother was dying, but God said to have hope, so I wouldn’t hear it, believe it, receive it. I kept praying. I kept hoping for healing on this side of heaven. I kept declaring healing, speaking in tongues no matter who saw me. Anything to save my mother’s life. 

Lung cancer. I wouldn’t have ever thought that for the woman who was so conscious about health, who quit smoking 33 years prior when she got pregnant with my oldest sister and who now detested it, the woman who taught us how to stay healthy and have faith in God. My mother, whom I looked up to for all things wellness, had lung cancer, and she was dying. 

It’s a long story as to how she could’ve possibly got lung cancer, and even longer as to why the doctors said she couldn’t go through treatment, so I’ll just give a brief summary. My mother had brain surgery in 2018, and, since then, hadn’t been able to say most words, her short-term memory wasn’t the best, she had said she wanted to die multiple times, and her faith seemed to dwindle. I had been praying to God to heal my mom but really also to restore her faith, that her faith in Jesus would not fail so that she may be saved. 

The hope God was talking about was that, the eternal hope, that she would be saved. On that Friday, two days after we found out she had cancer, I asked her if she believed in Jesus as Lord, that He died for her sins, and she said yes so enthusiastically. I asked her if she wanted to receive the Holy Spirit, and she said yes so enthusiastically. And I asked her if I could pray for her, and we bowed our heads, my hand on hers, and we prayed. 

That night, my mother passed and went to be with the LORD. And I know she did, because Jesus helped me keep that hope and allowed me to witness her declaration of faith right before she passed. She is healed and happier than ever now, and I thank God for that. 

God calls us to have hope that He is our Savior and that He has saved us from death. Hope remains, the Bible says. May our hope remain, that we may be with Him when it is our turn to close our eyes on this earth and open them to the pearly gates of heaven.