Mom

It was supposed to be a routine visit to see your mom…just a random Thursday that you happened to be in town. Your last few visits had upset you, as you saw your mom in decline – difficulty putting a name with your face, not wanting to get out of bed, speaking softly with her eyes closed. Doctors were consulted, medicinal dosages were altered in hopes that these physical changes were pharmaceutical aberrations and not something more dire. There was no warning or foreboding intuition of what the morning would bring.

Minutes later you would be holding a warm and familiar body containing a heart that no longer beat. Hope turns to despair, faith to doubt, firm ground suddenly giving way to the quicksand of confusion, fear, and shock. My phone rings, your picture shows in the display and I instinctively smile. The sickening sound of your tears and the catch in your voice are alarming – what’s happened, are you alright, have you been in an accident? Mama’s gone…what? Mama’s gone…

And just like that, everything comes to a crashing halt, but absolutely nothing stops.

Take your time, but if you don’t want to be charged for the room, we’ll need you to get everything out.

Sorry for your loss, but the contract on the sell of your mom’s house is no longer valid.

I know this is a difficult time but we’re going to need a check to cover the unpaid funeral expenses.

Take as much time as you need from work, but payroll is due.

We walk down the hallway of the memory care facility with the smell of bleach and antiseptic clinging to our nose. At the end of the corridor is an elderly lady clutching a babydoll close to her chest. Vacant looks surround us but I know that these are human beings that all have a story; people who love them, and miss what they once were. They lived vibrant lives and made a difference in their community, raised kids, paid taxes and lived through World Wars. Now they look at us in bewilderment as we walk into a nearly empty room – the space that was once the home of their friend and sojourner. A few more odds and ends are packed up and the door is closed on one life, but will soon open to another beautiful but broken soul. In the dining room Fall decorations are being put out in preparation for a Halloween celebration. Plastic pumpkins are placed on the tables and brightly colored paper leaves are scattered around. The symbolism is not lost on me that Autumn is all about death. The blooms have now faded, the colorful foliage will turn brown, and soon the wind will blow them from their life source. The naked trees will mock us in their reminder that life is fleeting. In the stark moment I cannot yet envision the new life that Spring ushers in… only the harsh Winter that is near. I wonder if you see and feel what I do, or maybe you can see beyond – I hope so.

I stand in front of a graveside gathering to offer words of healing and hope. I feel your gaze but I intentionally look anywhere else, afraid that the heaviness of this moment may be too much for us both. My eyes drift to you – the gravitational pull is too great between us, and I look. Your eyes reflect back only your inherent beauty, your graceful poise, and your unquenchable love of family and friends. I see the long and tearful hugs from your girlfriends, the clinging embrace of my father, and I fully understand why you are so loved… why I love you.

Today is your birthday.

This is the day that your mother labored and cried out in pain and eventually pushed you out into a waiting world. She looked at you in all of your vulnerable glory, and an inseparable bond was forged. The umbilical cord that connected you was cut but a new lifeline emerged. This new creation was something that only a troubled mother and her baby girl would ever know. The mystery cannot be explained and is best left to the secret places of your spirit.

Today, loved ones from near and far will wish you a “Happy Birthday”.

Happiness is subjective and a product of circumstances, but your joy comes from a deeper place and emerges solely on the condition of the heart. In good conscience I cannot ask you to be happy on this day but rather I ask you to let us collectively walk in your grief, in your pain, in your loss, in your memories of better times, with laughter and stories of the old days, recollections of riding horses, and playing in the creek, and running to your mama’s bed when you were scared, proudly showing off your new babies to their granny, easter egg hunts, and holiday meals – and recent times when you and your mama remembered the mystery that formed at your birth. Roles were reversed; now she was vulnerable and you were the protector. Together, you talked and laughed and remembered, she would become scared and look to you for safety. Life has now come full circle, as your mama has travelled back through the birth canal to her temporal death, and has been reborn into eternity. Your lifeline to her is now and forever an infinite one, not bound by the limitations of time and space or human frailty. This is the place where we all find our joy and embrace our oneness with all things mortal and immortal.

Soon our tribe will gather and light candles and sing the refrain “Happy Birthday to you…” but it’s not a hope or a request for you to feel something that’s momentarily absent. It’s a declaration of our our happiness that you were born, that you grew in wisdom and grace, that you overcame and became an encouragement to others, that you raised two amazing daughters who still need their mama, that you chose me of all people, to be your life partner.

“I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in

I’ll never meet the ground

Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us

We’re far from the shallow now”

Forever your love – Happy Birthday

Lauren, Myrtle, Jackie, Amanda

The Homeplace – Now Under Contract

I’ve now celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays without my mom. No “Happy Birthday” greeting, brought a certain melancholy to the milestone. Now I brace myself for Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day 2014 was a painful blessing. My mom had been struggling with her health for some time and the toll it was taking on her was becoming more apparent. Every holiday or special occasion brought with it a certain finality that this would be the last time we would all be together.

The kids, the grandkids, the great-grandkids, and her sisters showed up this Mother’s Day to truly celebrate mom – to honor her with our presence, to tell her how much she was loved, and in some ways, to say our goodbyes.

They say that the camera doesn’t lie, but sometimes it allows us to push back the cares of this world so that we can smile on cue. On the count of three…there was no smile from mom, only a wistful look-away as if thinking of some other time, some other place, perhaps when life was not so complicated, so difficult.

Mom would take her final breath 8 weeks later.

In the days following, I sifted through countless photos of mom, each telling parts of an otherwise incomplete story.

There is this vintage shot of a confident young woman, hands on hips, showing scandalous amounts of leg.

The glamorous engagement photo with sultry eyes and hollywood starlet looks.

The young mother of three troublesome boys who would tempt fate one more time, 7 years after me, to get the baby girl she always wanted.

The loving sister to eight siblings, who adored her.

The passionate adventurer.

The cherished grandmother, great grandmother and mother-in-law.

The devoted, loyal, faithful wife.

The fearless fighter.

My first love, my last mother’s day

Looking back on that day, I’m so very grateful to have been there… really there, fully aware, fully present, holding onto each moment as if I’d never get it back…knowing I’d never get it back.

My heart aches for all the heavy souls, this Mother’s Day. Some mourn, as I do, the loss of an unconditional love and kindred spirit that is incomparable. Others mourn for the person that never was – the mother they always longed for, but never received.

The life lesson is the same for both of us – to cherish the life we have been given, to be thankful for the people who love us, to forgive the people who have hurt us, to be courageous and humble, zealous but wise, open hearted but protective.

These are the attributes that my mom embodied and tried to instill in me. These are the attributes that the mother of my daughters have beautifully instilled in them.

This photo journey helps chronicle the story of the mom I knew, but also reveals the existence of a story about the mom I didn’t know. Mom was content to live in the shadow of others, never seeking the stage, the attention, or the glare of the spotlight. She raised four kids of her own and invested her life in hundreds of others as a career-long preschool teacher. She was the epicenter of every family gathering, yet never the center of attention. She could easily get lost in a room of people, but her absence looms forever large on those same gatherings.

As is often the case though, I waited too long to ask her the questions that I long to hear answered now. If I could roll back time, I would sit with her on a beach somewhere, with our toes in the sand, and I would ask her about her life, and I would be quiet and listen to her speak… What was it like growing up as one of nine kids? What were Christmas’s like? What did you want to be when you grew up? When you put on those short-shorts, and put your hands on your hips, did you feel invincible? Was your wedding day magical? Did you really want four kids? What went through your mind when the doctor handed you baby boys that you named John Porter, Mark Lynn, and Phillip Amory. How pleased were you when the doctor said, “it’s a girl”, and you blessed Amy Loreen with your own name. How hard was it to raise four kids almost single handedly, while your husband worked two jobs to keep food on the table? I’ve got a thousand more, including new ones like – Did grandma fly with you into everlasting? What’s heaven really like? Is Jesus totally amazing, and does he really speak the King’s English?

One day, when jobs and deadlines and obligations are no longer an excuse, I’ll take eternity to discover the mom I never knew. For now, I’m forever thankful for the mom who knew me.