My brother-in-law shared the message below at his dad's funeral 2 years ago. His words have stuck with me since then and provided comfort during my journey this past week. He sent that same message to me, replacing his dad's name with my mom's.

During times like this, it's a benefit to have in-laws who care so much. Our grief is their grief as well, because they love you; what you feel, they feel. My grief right now is the grief my wife, daughter, and my entire family have - someone we all loved is gone.

The message below offers us assurance in death. Thank you to my in-laws for your support and encouragement, to Bill Hoshauer , for the message below. Thank you to my wife, Kathy Hoshauer Weber , for your love for my mom. You held me tight last Thursday as I wept profusely. I know how much you loved her.

Here is the message from Bill.

To those who would tell the family, 'Sorry about your loss,' please know the family hasn't lost Peggy. You can't lose someone if you know where she is, right? We all know where she is:
Peggy Weber has gone Home.

I offer this excerpt from the book entitled The Applause of Heaven, by one of my favorite authors Max Lucado. In his final chapter, he suggests that the Book of Revelation could be entitled, "The Book of Homecoming", for in it we are given a picture of our heavenly home.

John's description of the future steals your breath. His depiction of the final battle is graphic. Good clashes with evil. The sacred encounters the sinful. The pages howl with shrieks of dragons and smolder with the coals of fiery pits. But in the midst of the battlefield there is a rose. John describes it in chapter 21:
"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying 'Now the dwelling place of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!"' two piece items for homecoming party
John is old when he writes these words. His body is weary. The journey has taken its toll. His friends are gone. Peter is dead, Paul has been martyred. Andrew, James, Nathaniel. . . fuzzy figures from an earlier era.
As he hears the voice from the throne, I wonder, does he remember the day he heard it on the mountain? For it is the same John and the same Jesus. The same feet that followed Jesus up the mount so long ago now stand to follow him again. The same eyes that watched the Nazarene teach on the summit watch for Him again. The same ears that heard Jesus first describe sacred delight not listen to it revealed again.
In this final mountaintop encounter, God pulls back the curtain and allows the warrior to peek into the homeland. When given the task of writing down what he sees, John chooses the most beautiful comparison earth has to offer. The Holy City, John says, is like "a bride beautifully dressed for her husband."
What is more beautiful than a bride? One of the side benefits of being a minister is that I get an early glimpse of the bride as she stands at the end of the aisle. And the bride is always radiant. Maybe it is the aura of whiteness that clings to her as dew clings to a rose. Or perhaps it is the diamonds that glisten in her eyes. Or maybe it's the blush of love that pinks her cheeks or the bouquet of promises she carries. Whatever it is, there is the feeling that when you see a bride, you are seeing the purest beauty the world can boast.
A bride. A commitment robed in elegance "I'll be with you forever." Tomorrow bringing hope today. Promised purity faithfully delivered.
When you read that our heavenly home is similar to a bride, tell me, doesn't it make you want to go home?
The old saint tells us that when we get home, God himself will wipe away our tears. The same hand that stretched the heavens will touch your cheeks. The same hands that formed mountains will caress your face. The same hands that curled in agony as the Roman spike cut through will someday cup your face and brush away your tears. Forever.
When you think of a world where there will be no more reason to cry, ever, doesn't it make you want to go home?
If one of the joys of the ministry is a bride descending the church aisle, one of the griefs is a body encased in a shiny box next to a pulpit. It's never easy to say good-bye. It's never easy to walk away. The hardest task in this world is to place a final kiss on cold lips that cannot kiss in return. The hardest thing in this world is to say good-bye.
In the next world, John says, "good-bye" will never be spoken. Tell, me, doesn't that make you want to go home?
You'll be home soon, too. You may not have noticed it, but you are closer to home than ever before. Each moment is a step taken. Each breath is a page turned. Each day is a mile marked, a mountain climbed. You're closer to home than you've ever been. Before you know it, your appointed arrival time will come; you'll descend the ramp and enter the city.
You'll see faces that are waiting for you. You'll hear your name spoken by those who love you. And maybe, just maybe --- in the back, behind the crowds --- the One who would rather die than live without you will remove his pierced hands from his heavenly robe and. . . applaud.
Well done, Peggy. Welcome home.