For the first

time in my life, I will observe Mother's Day this year without my mother.

My Mom, Thelma Kathleen Luster Epps, died Feb. 24 of this year after a

long fight against lung disease and a short stay in the hospital. Her

death was not anticipated and, for me, is just now beginning to sink in.

My brother

and I lost our dad to cancer in September 1996 after a two-year illness.

At the end, he was no longer the strong, independent man we had known

all our lives and wasn't conscious the last few days. His passing, while

sad, was met with a bit of relief because of the suffering he had endured.

Beforehand, however, I was able to talk with him by his bedside where

he assured me that he was ready to go and had made peace with God.

Dad painted

over 35 paintings so that family members would receive these last gifts

after his death. He left a final note for Mom and enough cash in a safe

place so that she would have emergency spending money until she was able

to get to the bank. There was a sense of closure, even before he died.

Not so with

Mom. My brother's family found her collapsed at home and had her rushed

to the hospital on a Monday. My brother called me and, even though I had

undergone gall bladder surgery the previous Wednesday, I immediately drove

the 354 miles to her hospital bed. She seemed to rally about midweek and,

Friday night, I drove back home for Sunday services.

On Saturday,

I received word that she had taken a turn for the worse and, without unpacking

my suitcase, I drove