No Tears In Heaven

/ Cecilia Bacon

I cried again and no one was more surprised than me. I thought I had cried all the tears I was going to cry and had moved on to ‘practicality mode.’ 

Today’s task was simple; move her final belongings from the care facility to storage—items I had carefully chosen so she would feel at home. Items I hoped would bring familiarity and would break through the cruel web of dementia. 

Because of Covid restrictions all her items were packed by someone else. I just had to call the movers when the packing was complete and ready to go. I was pleased to see the same crew arrive that had moved her in less than a month ago.

As they were loading the truck, the lead man said, “What happened, she didn’t like it here?” 

My husband quietly responded, “She passed.” 

That is when it happened; my tears started flowing. 

The movers were dumbfounded. I knew exactly how they felt because I felt the same when I got the news. Sweet but awkward words tumbled out of their mouths and then a bustle of activity ensued to break eye contact with my raw grief. 

It did not take long to load the truck, and off we went to storage. It was my job to hand carry her favorite bedside lamp and unlock the storage unit so I could put the lamp in a safe place before the movers unloaded the remaining items. I hopped on the elevator and gently set the lamp on the floor at her unit to unlock and lift the big overhead door. 

Once I ensured it was securely open, with no chance of rolling back down, I picked up the lamp and began to spy out the safest little cubby inside to protect the fragile little lamp. I found a place very quickly and carefully placed it back out of the way so it would have no contact with the incoming furniture and boxes. 

From start to finish, it took an hour to complete the job. I took one last look inside the unit and felt those tears threatening to fall a second time, so I gently closed and locked the door, on over 60 years of her life. 

My Aunt would have been so happy with the mover’s tidy organization and care of her things. She would have laughed at the eight garment racks lining either side of the storage room filled with her clothes. I thought my idea to do that was so clever because it would have allowed me to easily retrieve alternate clothing for her. 

Eight garment racks? I suddenly realize I was her caregiver for eight years. Hmmmm. Just like the garments on those racks, some were relaxing and fun, however, some were dark and uncomfortable. 

What I love the most is we no longer must watch her suffer with a broken mind and body, because both are now perfect. She no longer must worry about anything! But best of all, she is with JESUS! 

Rest In Peace, Aunt Billye.

30 thoughts on “No Tears In Heaven”

  3. You loved your aunt and were so good to her. Your tears are a testament to your kind heart. And you’re right – no tears in heaven! Only happiness and true joy, and eternity with your healthy and whole Aunt. I pray that time will ease your tears and pain. Love and prayers, my friend.

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    • Thank you Patty; I did love her. Her life of laughter was a huge encouragement to me through some very difficult childhood years. We had a life-long strong bond, and just like most relationships we also had messy days mixed in with a lot of good days. Who knew-but Jesus-the tables would one day turn and I would be the one trying to get a smile out of her? I shared many of your uplifting blogs with her and she loved when I would read her your stories on Aaron’s perspectives. If you ever wondered if your stories matter? They do. Big time! 💖

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  5. I am so sorry for your loss. What a beautiful post about her. I lost an aunt three years ago and another one about two years ago and it was awful. I visited the one in a nursing home and they other one lived with my parents and passed away suddenly in their home. Praying for strength and comfort for you. The tears will keep coming at very odd times — trust me. Eventually it gets better, though.

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  9. I love this tribute to your aunt. Whether she knew or not, everything you did was out of love. When she was hard to love, you still showed your love through all the little things. We love you and I pray for peace, grace and mercy as you grieve and heal. ❤️

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  11. Isn’t it interesting, how items, belongings seem to hold the memories of a lived one. Maybe it’s meant to be this way. Maybe the Lord Himself uses these furnishings, clothing, and old letters as a gift to us left behind. Oh, how just the smallest thing can instantly bring their sights, words, and essence to mind and heart. But, oh the splendor our loved ones in the Lord are bathed in today. God’s grip to you and yours – Alan

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  13. I’m so very sorry for your loss! (And I know this is belated, but I also know that we grieve for our loved ones for a long time.) I hope you memories and your faith are a comfort to you….it does help to know that she is in a better place, and home at last.

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  14. I’m so sorry for your loss! You’ve had more than your share of challenges recently. But as much as you’ll miss her, you know she is with God know, where there are no more tears and she is happy and at peace. And the time will come when you will see her again, I honestly believe that. Prayers for you all!!!

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    • And I’m also sorry that I commented on this post twice! I remembered reading this before, with sadness, but I didn’t remember I had already commented on it. (The joys of aging mean my memory is worse than usual.) But even if I repeat myself, please know my response is sincere.

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