Goodbye, mom. I love you.

My beautiful mom, Joan Kleppinger Harrison, left us behind at 6:15 a.m. this morning. She was an incredible woman who taught me more than I can ever give her credit for. 38 years ago, a freak carbon monoxide gas leak in our house destroyed her immune system and stole her health for good. But she never stopped fighting. Sometimes connected to oxygen tanks, isolated from the world and forced to wear masks to process toxins most of us would shrug at, she smiled through the tubes and masks, and did her best to raise me and teach me how I should live.

At 18 years old, when I gave faith, morality and all those teachings the middle finger and pursued a decade of debauchery, she resorted to daily prayer, crying out to God to bring me back. She wrote me hundreds of letters over the years, patiently reminding me that there was a better way. When she didn’t believe her prayers were enough, she got hundreds of others to join her. And at 28, I decided to come “home” and found her there with open arms.

My mom loved Jesus. She used her 40+ year relationship with Him to build people up and show them love. Despite her isolation, she demonstrated kindness and gentleness and encouragement through letter-writing and later, emails. In a world where people are fleeing from faith citing hypocrisy and judgement, mom made people of faith look good.

10 years ago, she battled breast cancer and won. Three months ago, pancreatic cancer visited her and she rose up to fight again. My parents’ 50th wedding anniversary was in August, and my book, which I dedicated to her, would be released in October. But after three painful months, two of them spent in the hospital, we brought her home to hospice last Tuesday.

She said she wasn’t afraid of death, and that she was ready to see what heaven would really be like. And to meet Jesus face-to-face, her friend whom she’d spent tens of thousands of hours with over the years.

As much as friends and family tried to prepare my father and I, caring for her over the last week has been the most difficult time in our lives. Nothing could even compare. Helplessly watching our beloved mother and wife suffer and still continue to fight took so much out of us.

Yesterday, Father’s Day, was the worst day. She was no longer able to move or speak, and I just held her hand as dad got into the hospital bed with her. We held her and told her she should go.

But she didn’t.

Veronica, the hospice nurse on shift happened to be someone who knew my Mom. Mom had helped her two daughters 15 years ago. When her shift ended, she clocked out and told us she’d stay with us as long as we needed her. Another friend from church came over and sang hymns by her bedside.

I got up just after midnight, and felt so clearly in my spirit, “Mom’s going to die today. It’s no longer Father’s Day.” It hit me like a ton of bricks, that mom might have been suffering through this final day, unwilling to leave my Father and I on this particular day. Not wanting this day of honor and happiness for us to be clouded with the sadness of her death.

My dad got up around 6 am. He sat by her bed, whispered good morning, and then watched her breathe her last breath.

Mom taught me so much about generosity. She was always looking after municipal workers, teachers, and friends who mailed and delivered her letters. She loved her two grandchildren passionately, and was always trying to shove babysitting money in our hands.

In that spirit, before she died, she asked that any gifts in memoriam for her be given to help more people get clean water, a cause she became personally interested in over the last 11 years. That link is cwtr.org/joan

RIP Mommy, Mom, Joanie, Grandma, … January 3, 1943 - June 18, 2018