My beloved Mor-Mor went to be with Jesus on Saturday. You may be wondering where the name “Mor-Mor” came from. You’re not alone. “Mor-Mor” is the Swedish name for “mother’s mother,” but since the name for “father’s mother” is “Far-Mor,” she chose the one that sounded a little more grandmotherly.
Now if this conversation about the name “Mor-Mor” was being had around my dad, he’d most likely go into the story of how his dad, my Papa, would always joke about wanting to be called “Much-Mor.” That story always makes me laugh, because everything I hear about my Papa, (he died when I was 2) is full of laughter, fun and love. And that’s exactly how all the Hortons are. Full of laughter, fun and love.
My Mor-Mor was really special to me. She was a very strong Christian, and someone who I knew was always praying for me. In high school and college, I went down to Florida to visit her a few times by myself. She would take me shopping, and we’d have the best girl talk. I often talked to her about how it was hard for me to be single, and even then she’d tell me how she was praying for God to bring my husband in His timing. She would encourage me to trust in the Lord, because His plans are best. And she was right. When I called her to tell her about Stuart, I could hear her smile through the phone as she said, “I knew God would bring him. God is so good.”
During the summer, my Mor-Mor lived in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. This quaint, small town, has been one of my very favorite places ever since I can remember. It’s one of those summer, lake towns straight out of a movie. And it sits on Lake Winnepesaukee, one of the most gorgeous natural lakes in the world. (I haven’t seen them all, but I’m still sure of my assessment.)
Every year, the Hortons all reunite at Mor-Mor’s for a week. It’s lovingly nicknamed, “Horton Hell week.” Because that’s just how my family is. Crazy and insane. But amazing and wonderful all at the same time. We all live scattered around the country, and this one week is usually the only time we all see each other throughout the year. But every year, after everyone’s arrived, it’s as if no time has passed. This week has become so special to me, and Mor-Mor, being the matriarch of the Hortons, has always been a huge part of that.
My Mor-Mor is going to be sorely missed, both at the lake and in life in general. I’m going to miss her hugs, and just sitting with her and talking about life. She was so excited about Stuart and me being in ministry, and would always tell me how proud she was of us.
I miss her a lot already, but at the same time, I’m so happy for her. Like most elderly people, it was getting harder and harder for her to get around. She was in constant pain, and a few months ago, it started getting much worse. After I found out she had passed away, I said to Stuart that I was glad I had the assurance that she was with Jesus, and I wondered what she was doing with Him right then. He replied, “I bet she’s dancing with Him.” Of course that brought on a new batch of tears, but this time they were happy tears. A few moments before that, she couldn’t walk, or even move without pain. And then she closed her eyes and when she opened them she could dance. With Jesus. I mean, there really is nothing better than that.
If I could say anything to her right now, I’d simply say, “keep dancing Mor-Mor, and save me some space on the dance floor. I’ll bring my tap shoes. I love you.”