In 2011 I had a revelation.

It was Saturday 29 January. I knew I would be preoccupied the next day, so I decided to do Sunday’s Bible reading on Saturday evening. The set passage was Psalm 116. As I read the psalm, the following words jumped out at me: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints”.

I knew immediately that God was preparing me for my mother Evelyn’s death. These words of Scripture made me realise that she would die the next day (Sunday 30 January) and assured me that Evelyn was one of God’s own (a “saint”, a faithful one). Hers would be a precious death.

To explain why, I must begin my story several weeks earlier…

It was the first week of January 2011.

Evelyn had been admitted to hospital. She needed specialist medical care. Evelyn had been in residential respite care for several weeks while Tony and I were away. Around the same time she took ill, Evelyn was due to return home.

For the last 8 years of her life Evelyn lived with us. Our home was her home. I have written previously about the significant contribution she made to our household (Pasta Bake, February 18, 2016). However, after Evelyn underwent major surgery in 2006, at the end of her 90th year, she was no longer able to contribute in the same way. She required full-time care. Furthermore, from age 91 she began to show signs of dementia, which increased in severity over the next few years. (Read My mother, a young woman, May 6, 2016.)

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Tony and I with Evelyn on her 90th birthday
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Granddaughters Ruth and Sallyann with Evelyn on her 90th birthday

Evelyn was unhappy being in hospital. As is common for someone with middle stage dementia, being in a new strange place was frightening for her. She was confused, fearful and restless. Whenever Tony and I visited her, while she could still speak, she would plead: “I want to come home.” I was well aware just how much she wanted to be at home with us. My usual response was, “Not now, Mum. You are not well enough. You have to get better first.”

The days turned into weeks.

Evelyn’s condition deteriorated. She could no longer walk. She refused to eat and drink. Sadly, she was not getting better. I realised I couldn’t keep up the pretence that she would be coming home. I thought it was cruel of me to let her think that she could, when I knew differently. So, when she begged us to take her home, I would say, “Mum, you can’t come home with us. You are going to a much more beautiful home. A new home, your home in heaven. Jesus will be there.” I could say this with confidence, because Jesus told his followers that this is so (John 14:1-4). Not that these words were easy to say.

During Evelyn’s stay in hospital, members of her family came to visit her. Each one wanted to spend time with her and let her know how much she meant to them. As hard as it was for them to accept, they realized they were saying “Goodbye” to her. It was a cherished time for them, and for Evelyn as well. It was clear that she knew each one, and she responded as best as she was able.

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Granddaughter Ruth and great-grandson Lucas with Evelyn, 5 January 2011
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Granddaughter Sallyann with Evelyn, 17 January 2011

Evelyn’s ability to communicate had been faltering for months, a sign of advancing dementia. When she spoke, she used just a few words, in a weak, faint voice. While in hospital, she spoke very little. It was difficult for us to know if she was aware of what was happening around her and what she remembered. One day I had a message for her from our son Daniel, a professional musician, who lived and worked in Vienna at the time. He was unable to visit her, but he wanted her to know that he loved her and was praying for her. After I gave Evelyn his message, I asked her: “Do you remember Daniel? Who’s Daniel?” Her reply, almost inaudible but unmistakable, brought me to tears. She said, “He plays the violin.”

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Memory is a priceless gift

Evelyn spent her 95th birthday in hospital.

It was 14 January 2011. Tony and I wondered how to “celebrate” her birthday, to make it a special day for her. What could we give her? She needed for nothing. We decided to take her our CD player and three CDs of music she knew and loved, the cross-stitch Biblical text “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you” (Philippians 1:3) that hung in her bedroom (I gave it to her as a gift several years previously), a homemade birthday card and some photos. We sat with her, held her hands, played the music, sang to her and talked with her. But it wasn’t a celebration. Her eyes were tightly closed the entire time we were with her. She made no response. It was her birthday, but we left her that day feeling so sad.

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By Evelyn’s hospital bed, 14 January 2011

We discovered that some days Evelyn was more responsive than others. On her birthday she lay in the hospital bed, seemingly fast asleep. The next day, and for several days afterwards, when family members visited, Evelyn surprised us all by sitting propped up in bed and being relatively attentive.

Often when we visited Evelyn in hospital we found her agitated and unsettled. But as we played the hymns and spiritual songs she knew and loved, sang with her, prayed with her and for her, God graciously comforted her and gave her peace. It’s an example of David’s testimony in Psalm 23:4, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” The transformation was remarkable. When Evelyn could hardly speak my name, she still could sing, or mouth, the words of Jesus loves me and What a Friend we have in Jesus. She remembered the words, and could say them, despite her frailty. My brother Bevan was with me and Tony on one occasion when she sang “Jesus loves me” with us. Bevan was amazed.

After a couple of weeks, each day when I visited Evelyn in hospital I thought it might be her last. As I left her each day I said what I thought might be my final “Goodbye”. I couldn’t hold back the tears as I told her I loved her, I would miss her and that she was very special to me. I reminded her that Jesus was looking after her and was with her, so there was no need to be afraid. As you can imagine, this daily routine took its toll on me emotionally.

A different kind of care

On Thursday 27 January 2011, Evelyn was transferred from The Wesley Hospital to Canossa Private Hospital, where she was admitted to the palliative care unit. From the moment she arrived, Evelyn was treated by the staff at Canossa with great dignity, respect, love and compassion. Tony and I were treated by the staff with the same level of dignity, respect, love and compassion. The staff did not shy away from speaking to us about Evelyn’s prognosis, but with such kindness and grace. They inquired about funeral arrangements.

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Personal items we placed in Evelyn’s room, Canossa Private Hospital

Being in this place was a great blessing for Evelyn and for us. For Evelyn, it signalled the culmination of a prolonged physical and emotional battle, especially during the past 3-4 weeks. For us, it was a blessing to know Evelyn would be given the loving care and attention she needed in her last days.

What I earnestly sought for my mother was a “good” death. A passing from this life to the next without suffering. And I wanted to be with her when she died, just as I had been with my father when he died. Sitting alongside a person who is dying, holding their hand, telling them how much they are loved, is a great privilege. As a friend of mine once said, “It’s like being on holy ground.”

The revelation

It was on Saturday evening, 29 January, that I read Psalm 116 and the words “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints”. These words were a revelation. They gave me insight and great comfort. They made me think about my mother’s death from God’s perspective. The verse assured me that the death of a believer – someone who has professed faith in Jesus – is neither fearful nor tragic nor terrible, but “precious”. From God’s perspective, Evelyn’s death would be “good”, “excellent” or “honourable”. A precious death.

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Bible reading notes 30 January 2011, and Bible

On Sunday 30 January, I sat with Evelyn from 7.00 am. Evelyn’s doctor called in to see her at 8.30 am. She confirmed that Evelyn’s condition was terminal, but stable. For the entire day, Evelyn’s eyes were tightly closed, she couldn’t speak and her hands were listless. Her breathing was laboured. It’s a day I hope I never forget. I treasure the hours I spent with my mother that day. I held her limp hands, stroked her hair and wiped her moist forehead. The tears flowed. I told her how much I loved her and would miss her (as I had done so many times before), sang to her and prayed with her. I recalled the Bible verse, which revealed she would die that day.

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Holding Evelyn’s hand, 30 January 2011

Tony joined me by Evelyn’s bedside around 10.30 am. Earlier, he attended the 8.30 am church service at St Andrew’s Anglican Church South Brisbane where he had been rostered to lead intercessory prayer. Tony told the congregation about Evelyn’s condition (she was a member of that congregation) and the church prayed for her and for us. Tony remembers feeling uplifted by the love and care shown by our church family. Our minister and his wife came to see Evelyn around midday and prayed with her and us.

Throughout the day the room was filled with beautiful music (hymns and spiritual songs Evelyn knew and loved). One could feel the presence of the Lord. Even the staff said so. At one point, as we spoke to Evelyn and listened to Hayley Westenra’s poignant rendition of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Pie Jesu, Evelyn shed a few tears. Tony and I both witnessed this. Evelyn knew we were there! She could hear us and she could hear the music! In the midst of sorrow, this knowledge filled our hearts with unspeakable joy.

At 5.00 pm, Tony and I agreed to go home for a while, to rest. It had been a long day and very emotional. There was nothing more I wanted to say to my mother. I had said it all. So, as we left her that day, I said to her, “Goodbye, darling. Tony and I are tired. We are going home for a little while to rest, but we will be back. Jesus is with you. And if you want to leave us now, that’s okay. You can go. We love you.” We told the staff we were going home and we asked them to let us know as soon as there was any change in Evelyn’s condition.

Under the Lord’s watchful eye

I didn’t feel anxious leaving Evelyn. I had done all I could for her. And, more than this, I was confident the Lord was watching over her. “The eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love” (Psalm 33:18). Furthermore, the words of Psalm 116:15 assured me that God was watching over Evelyn in a special way, as she faced death.

By 9.45 that evening, we hadn’t heard from the hospital. I had been so sure that this was to be the day of my mother’s death. Was I mistaken? Had I misread the Lord’s guidance on such an important matter? I remember saying to Tony, “My mother is a fighter. She’s still with us. It’s just amazing.”

At 10.30 pm Tony and I decided to go to bed. We had just switched off the bedside lights, when the phone rang. It was the registered nurse on duty at Canossa. I knew what he was about to say. “Your mother just died. We came and found her a little while ago. Would you like to come and see her?”

Of course we wanted to come and see her.

After phoning my brother (who lives 700 km away), Tony and I returned to Canossa. It was about 11.30 pm on Sunday 30 January.

This is what we found when we arrived. The music was still playing and a scented candle was lit and placed on the table. The bed was made and Evelyn’s body was draped in a clean nightgown. She looked beautiful. Her hands were folded neatly and placed on her chest just below her chin. The sweet-smelling gardenias from our garden I had brought in earlier that day were placed on her chest. Her eyes were closed. She looked like she was breathing normally (of course she wasn’t) and her body was still warm to touch.

We spent half an hour or so in the room with Evelyn’s body. There were no tears, just thankfulness. We had shed all our tears earlier that day and in the weeks before. Now we felt strangely peaceful. We knew that Evelyn’s spirit was no longer there. As the apostle Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 5:8, from the moment a believer dies, he or she is “absent from the body” but “present with the Lord”. The person we had known was not there.


Evelyn’s Funeral Service was held at St Andrew’s Anglican Church South Brisbane on Monday 7 February 2011. One week later, on Monday 14 February, a Memorial Service was held in Rockhampton, at the Rockhampton Crematorium Chapel. Evelyn lived in Rockhampton for 58 years of her life, so this service gave her extended family and friends there an opportunity to remember and honour her.

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Evelyn’s Memorial Service brochure

At Evelyn’s Memorial Service, I delivered the message (“Words of Hope”). I felt compelled to tell those gathered what the Lord had revealed to me through the Scriptures. I shared how the words of Psalm 116:15 prepared me for my mother’s death and gave me the hope, comfort and reassurance I needed and sought. Evelyn’s was truly a precious death.

Our son Daniel came home for a few weeks following Evelyn’s death. He played the violin at both services.


Alzheimer’s and Dementia in Australia. Online:

The Simplicity of Dementia: A Guide for Family and Carers. Huub Buijssen. Jessica Kingsley Publishers, London and Philadelphia. 2005.

Facilitating spiritual reminiscence for older people with dementia: A learning package. Elizabeth MacKinlay and Corinne Trevitt. Centre for Ageing and Pastoral Studies, St Mark’s Theological Centre, Barton, ACT. 2006.

Online Bible Commentary. Psalm 116:15.

Pink, Arthur W. (1886-1952). Comfort for Christians. Chapter 17, Precious Death, Commentary on Psalm 116:15. Online:

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Judith Salecich

Writer, researcher, former secondary and tertiary teacher and public servant, wife, mother, grandmother, child of God, photography enthusiast, lover of life, history, food and all things creative.

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13 thoughts on “A precious death”

  1. Beautiful Judy as John MacArthur, said in one of his powerful sermons “what is the worst thing that could happen to you is it death? no death is the best thing that could happen to you as you will be with The Lord Jesus Christ” This I carried with me when Steven was dying and it sure is a positive comfort to know where he is now thank you Lord for the assurance we have from you and in you xoxoox love you Judy xo I still miss Steven but would not wish him back knowing where he is xo

    • Vernette, I am so grateful that you have shared about your darling Steven, who died so prematurely. That is a hard burden for a parent to bear. I couldn’t begin to understand how you must feel. But, as you say, you are comforted knowing that he is with the Lord, and where better could he be? It is the hope of every believer, that we will be with the Lord when we die. God bless you, Judy.

  2. Thank you for sharing the story of your mother’s death. How wonderful for your mother to be supported by a loving and caring family. God bless you.

    • Narelle, thank you so much for taking the time to read “A precious death”, and for providing feedback. Your comments are much appreciated. I recall that you lost your mother many years ago, sadly, so I realise that your experience is so different to mine. Clearly, we never know what is ahead for us or what life will bring our way. God bless you too!

  3. Dear Judy, thanks for sharing the beautiful and painful memories of the last days of your Mother. I was so encouraged by how the Lord comforted you during this time and gave you his peace. The Bible verse he gave you was amazing. How wonderful that she is with Christ in eternity and no longer suffering.
    Lots of love, Amanda

    • Amanda, thank you so much for taking the time to respond to my story. I’m so pleased you found it encouraging. Our Lord never ceases to surprise us, does he? And yes, I am so comforted to know that Evelyn is with the Lord. Lots of love to you too, Judy.

  4. Dear Judy,
    Thank you for the story. It brings back all the beautiful memories of Grandma. Very encouraging to know how God prepared you through His words. How precious and comforting it is to know that she was in God’s loving arms.

    • Dear Sonal. How lovely to hear from you, and to know that my story about “Grandma” brought back beautiful memories for you. You cared for her on a number of occasions, in our absence, which we appreciated very much. Yes, it is amazing how one verse, Psalm 116:15, at just the right time, prepared me for my mum’s death and gave me assurance of her eternal destiny. How precious is that! Lots of love to you and Willis, Judy.

  5. Thanks Judy for sharing these memories with your mother in her last days on earth. I have been greatly encouraged as I face caring for my own parents now and with more intensity as they become more independent. You and Tony are a great encouragement to Paul and I. Thank you for your love and generosity.
    I also tried your steak marinade recently when we had guests. The steak was a great success and enjoyed by all. Thanks!

    • Dear Annette. Thank you for your warm and uplifting comments on “A precious death”. If my story has helped you in any way, as you care for your elderly parents, then I am truly happy. Tony and I are only too willing to continue to offer a listening ear and support you and Paul in your own set of circumstances. And I’m glad you and your guests liked the result of using the steak marinade! Love, Judy.

  6. Dear Judy, I have read your story this morning and I know you know about my Mama’s passing last May. The similarities of our mothers last few weeks of life really struck me. Even to the detail of taking some time out from a very stressful day knowing Mum’s time with us was coming to an end. It was while we were away that she passed, thankfully in the care of one of the nurses who had cared for Mum for last few years of her life. We too arrived to see her at peace, and in death treated with dignity and respect, and her Neil Diamond music playing. Her family had been given those days to say goodbye to a women much loved and now very much missed. We gather with her in death, knowing that as her body cooled her time with us was over and she was in a better place, devoid of the dementia, and devoid of pain. Grief comes in waves with some days almost too hard to bear and at other times I find myself smiling or thinking of the precious moments I was graciously given with her. Her legacy is reflected in my children and grandchildren’s eyes. My prayers comfort me at these times and I know I am not alone when you let Jesus walk with you. I thank you for sharing your story. I am planning to make that final journey of returning my mother’s ashes to her final physical resting place next to Dad, later next month. It will be a celebration of her memory and another step in our grieving process. May our mothers rest in peace with the Lord.

    • Dear Zeena.

      My heart goes out to you. Thank you so much for sharing with me (and my readers) the similarities between your mother’s passing and mine. I’m so glad my story resonated with you, and helped you in some little way as you continue to grieve your dear mother’s loss. Your loss is so much more raw than mine. 

      I remember your mother well. She was a great asset to the school, and everyone liked her soft and gentle ways. Yes, you were blessed to have such a beautiful person as your mother. I’m so pleased to read that you “see” her in your children’s and grandchildren’s eyes. That’s so comforting. 

      Zeena, whenever I see your photo I see your mum. You are so much like her! Perhaps that should be an encouragement to you. 

      My prayers and best wishes for the next stage in your grieving process – when you place your mother’s ashes next to your father’s. 

      Love and hugs

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