Some find it not entirely coincidental that my mother passed away at the exact time a power plant in our town went up in flames. Given my reputation for mischief, several have asked exactly where I was at 6 a.m. that Monday. I was asleep in bed. I have a witness.

Mom had been tired of this earth for a while, and finally she'd had enough. I tried to feed her. She refused. I tried the things she tried on me to trick me into eating mashed veggies when I was a toddler. She clenched her lips. Maybe she was dreaming of a grander feast in another land.

Monday morning in her sleep, my 85-year-old mother slipped into Heaven to see what Jesus was building for her. I bet she was astounded. And I bet the second person to greet her there was Dad. He probably said, “Pucker up, Bernice. Welcome Home!”

What Mattered Most
So how do you say goodbye to the first woman who ever kissed you? The one who rocked you and read to you and showed you where to find Jesus? How do you say goodbye to your biggest fan, to one of the greatest champions for Christianity you ever met? First, you cry a lot. And then you smile, because you remember how imperfect she was.

Mom hated cooking. Her second-favourite kitchen activity was preparing dinner. Her favourite was banging her head against the fridge. She once tied me to the clothesline with a dog leash. I quite enjoyed sitting on the back step pondering a canine's life. But she felt so guilty, she released me with a warning: “Stop running away.” And I did.

Mom would have been reported for such behaviour nowadays. Mothers weren't perfect back then—but they weren't absent, either.

Neighbourhood kids of my childhood have been phoning and e-mailing. In our backyard, they knew they could play football, baseball and ball hockey without being threatened with live ammunition. I don't know if the decision was easy, but Mom chose children over grass. Our house was a haven. My friend, Bob, used to fall asleep on our sofa. He may still be there.

One note from a friend who has wandered far from God said, “Your mother was one of the only Christians I could stand to be around.” She hugged kids with more tattoos than brain cells. Perhaps it was her bad eyesight or perhaps she had very good eyesight—so good that she only saw the stuff that mattered.

Hanging On
You were safe at our house. I never once heard her speak an unkind word about my papa, a preacher or even a politician. She would defend complete idiots sometimes. Referees on Hockey Night in Canada, for instance. I guess she figured that God had shown so much grace to her, she'd better show some to others. When I looked for a bride, I wanted someone like my mom, one who wanted nothing more in this life than to follow Jesus with all her heart.

Mom hugged kids with more tattoos than brain cells. She had very good eyesight—so good that she only saw the stuff that mattered

Mom suffered through the Great Depression and she suffered through a not-so-great depression herself. In my earliest memories, she is sick. I think I got into comedy to cheer her up, hoping she'd get up off the bed and walk and sing and dance like she did sometimes.

On summer vacations, I watched her hand Bible literature to leather-clad bikers, telling them the best news she knew. I was sure they would murder her—and me—but they didn't. Her charm was irresistible. Mom was fearless, yet she was the first person I ever saw have a panic attack. From her I learned that our greatest saints often struggle the most. They grow saintly hanging on to Jesus with everything they've got.

Saying Goodbye
With the onset of dementia, Mom's tact filter went bye-bye. “Your nose is crooked,” she once told me, before slugging me in the arm. Into her 80s, she still packed a wallop. One day she whispered, “This growing old ain't for kids.”

Our town lost a power generator and a great generator of power all at once. Mom prayed almost non-stop as her years increased. Three bestselling authors said they wouldn't have written a book without her encouragement. The same is true for me. Mom was a writer who was content to stay at home while her books travelled the world. She could have secretaried, administrated or managed a staff, but she showed me that money is a lousy substitute for the adoration of five kids and 13 grandchildren. And it was those children who stood around her bedside singing hymns past tears, thanking God for her life.

How do you say goodbye to such a girl? Maybe you don't. You say thank you. Thanks for the love and the inspiration and the memories. And thank You, Lord, that because she's with You and You're with me, we aren't so very far apart.

Heaven is looking sweeter all the time.

Visit popular author and speaker Phil Callaway online at www.laughagain.org.

Illustration: Dennis Currie/dcurriedesign.com.