Walking Into Heaven


Our dear, sainted Mother, Mary Louise Dwyer, the love of our lives, the heart of our hearts, died peacefully last Friday surrounded by her loving family.

Mom's 89 years were energetic and joyous.  In our family, headed by a strict, Irish Catholic father, she was the go—to mother.  People gravitated towards her naturally, sensing in her a truly deep and genuine warmth and sympathy.  My sister recently attended her high school reunion.  She knew many of those old friends from grade school.  They all remembered and wanted to know about Mom and expressed fond remembrances of her.  Everybody who met her loved her, including the doctors and nurses when she first went into the hospital.  The last time she visited one was when she gave birth to her 6th child way back in 1951. 

It was my good fortune to have been with her in this house for a long time. In the last two months of her life, I was blessed to be able to see the living face and embodiment of God's grace as I helped her walk around and put her to bed at night.   

Mom loved to walk.  Over the years we walked throughout the neighborhood for countless miles, enjoying the changing seasons, people met along the way, front yard gardens, various dogs (well, most of them), and Mother Nature.  Mom especially loved clouds, delighting in their infinite shapes and varieties.  Making those walks more priceless were the talks we had strolling along through the summer, fall, winter and spring.  In the spring of her days she embraced life.  When leaving her house down near the river to go to work downtown, she told us once, she would run to the levee before slowing down to walk across the bridge.  In my mind that is a perfect image of Mom, running towards and welcoming that day and all the days to come.

In her hospital bed, her family gathered round, Mom would press our hands now and then.  But we noticed that her feet were moving, just a little bit, almost continuously.  And they kept moving as she walked into Heaven. 

John B. Dwyer  8 19 05