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  • Writer's pictureJamie Leat


Looking out at the pasture, two days after mom passed.

During the early morning hours of December 20th, my mom, Kathy Jacobson, passed through a beautiful, mysterious fog into the loving arms of God. She closed her eyes one final time on our side and opened them in the spacious, glorious world of God’s presence.

And since that day, I’ve struggled to find words to write. It seems I’ve been sitting in a fog for quite some time.

The unwelcome, Alzheimer's fog became a routine visitor in mom’s life. Every time she awoke, I saw confusion in her cloudy eyes. "Where am I?" "Who are you?" "Who am I?" "What day is it?" Sleep caused disorientation.

But let a little time pass, and her memories would slowly return, reorienting her once again into the reality that she was loved.

As mom’s fog increased, we slowed down even more. Limiting stimulation gave her needed time and space to find her footing and remember the most important thing – she was loved.

And so it is with me…

Fog is a normal part of my life. Activity, unrelenting responsibilities, and abundance create a foggy reality. This hazy mist severely limits my vision and understanding of what’s actually happening around me. I need time to sit and remember – to reorient towards the reality of God’s love for me.

Mom and I befriended the fog. We learned to notice its presence, embrace it, and allow it to turn our gaze toward God’s love for us and our love for each other.

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