It's difficult to rejoice.

She's gone from this Earth. Aunt Daisy passed away last night at 10:35 p.m. central time. Death creeped into the dark of night and took her home to Jesus. I imagine, too, that she was then delivered into the arms of her awaiting mother, other family and friends. That's not so bad when you think about it. Actually, that's the best place to be - rejoicing in the healing properties of heaven. However, it's a difficult place for me right now.

As a Christian, Daisy had the assurance of heaven; so do I. I am rejoicing over her entrance onto the streets paved with gold. I have thought of nothing else about her death except of what she must be experiencing right now. How upon the first hour she was taking it all in. Then it was the second hour - who had she seen? At the same time these thoughts were going on, I was communicating with family back at the house as to the realities of what comes after the death of an individual, especially when that individual has passed away in her own home. There were painful tasks that had to be completed. It's difficult to accomplish such tasks when there is much shock and sorrow entering into the equation. Meanwhile, back in heaven there is much rejoicing and praising going on. What a contrast of emotions!

I've lost not only my aunt, but a friend. Since I was a child, I remember always connecting with her. And as I grew into an adult, we established a close relationship. There are so many memories, but the ones that happened most frequently were the phone calls.

From my childhood, I remember my mother calling her sister (and subsequent family) on Saturdays. The dialing rates were cheaper, so every Saturday she spoke with Aunt Daisy. This is a deeply rooted memory. As I grew up, I started doing the same thing. It's what I knew. Fortunately for us all, the rates adjusted, and you could call after 9pm any night of the week, so the calls became more frequent. Eventually, as is the case now, it doesn't matter when you call. The rates are all the same. Therefore, my relationship with Aunt Daisy was then deeply rooted in many frequent phone calls as well. I am now shaking my head at the thought of never being able to hear that voice over the phone. I can't call her during an Alabama football game. I won't be able to call her to share the successes (or failures) of my children. I no longer can call just to see how she is. Well, now I have to imagine how she is, but that's difficult to do through my tears. It's difficult to rejoice at her healing right now.

So we're now into 12 hours after death. There's still rejoicing going on in heaven. I sit here alone in my sorrowful thoughts imagining what's going on in her Minnesota home and in her heavenly home. That's just it: I can only imagine. But one thing's for sure, one day I will know, and that's the best assurance I can have. Meanwhile, I experience conflicting emotions of sadness and sorrow versus gladness and exultation. It's just plain difficult, and I don't like it.