Mommy

It’s been 364 days, 20 hours and 5 minutes since my Mom died.  May 22, 2012 at 2:25 pm she breathed her last after a long year of hospitalizations for a broken hip, breast cancer and congestive heart failure.  There are no words to express what it is like to watch someone you love die – particularly a death where they are drowning in their own fluids. It is a pain that cannot be articulated, especially when that person is your mother.  It has left me with heartache that I believe I have not fully engaged in as of yet; a grief that will take a lifetime to process and why wouldn’t it? 

Heidi was the woman whose womb I grew in; the woman whose nurturing hands tended to me when I was sick or mercilessly teased at school; and the woman whose own traumatized childhood set the context for my own.  She was the person I most adored and sometimes resented.   One smile from my mother could make me feel so deeply loved and I never doubted her joy when I walked into the room – it would explode from behind those beautiful baby blues piercing deep into my soul.  You see my mom delighted in the personhood of all people, and she was never happier than to sit listening to another’s story.  Those that knew her adored her; her hospitality and servant hearted nature was a gift touching many. 

Like all mother daughter relationships ours was deeply complicated.  I am the first born and with it came all her adoration as well as every one of her unreasonable and at times impossible expectations that follow the trailblazer of subsequent sibs.  The responsibility for her emotional well-being landed smack dab on me and I spent my entire life trying to fill a hole left by her traumatized past unsuccessfully.  My mother received more of my time than other adult children give to their parents; yet even when present I felt like I could never be present enough.  There was something about our dynamic that made me feel like she wanted to consume my being back into her own.  The ensuing outcome was that I never felt like I could be enough, do enough or love her enough. 

I once heard someone once say that when those you love pass you only remember the good.  I’m so glad that is true of their experience; but it really isn’t mine.  My nature screams for authenticity and truth; and I cannot face this experience without speaking honestly about the good, the bad and the ugly.  The grief over the loss of my mother is a mixed bag that contains sorrow I can’t yet get close to and relief that I no longer have to bear the responsibility for my Mommy’s pain.   Those who have lost parents know the heaviness that descends over everything, the exhaustion one feels even after twelve hours of sleep and the loss of part of yourself that was mirrored by one who was your foundational relationship.  No matter your age, you have lost a part of yourself and you don’t fully know who you are without them. 

This journey has been complicated by having to watch my Dad grieve the loss of his life-mate of fifty years….to him – the loss of his life.   I watched my father age right before my eyes, listened to him promise her he would search the stars when he passes; and come home to countless swollen and puffy eyes knowing he had spent the entire day in loneliness and sorrow.   A part of me wonders if the full weight of my Mom’s loss will hit me when my Father passes.   Nonetheless, I have promised myself not to borrow trouble from tomorrow; and to stay present today navigating the waves of grief when they consume me. 

This week has been heavy – but, light has begun to find its way back into our lives.  The constant heaviness is lifting and energies are beginning to return.  I find myself noticing both the best and worst of my mother’s characteristics within myself; embracing the good as a gift that says she is still with me; and working to relinquish those that did not serve her.  Today I grieve her passing, but I also hold onto the hope of resurrection, in my character, in my relationships and in my tomorrows.  And maybe, just maybe; when it’s my turn to close earth’s chapter,  I will see those love filled baby blues again.

9/11 Ten Years Later

As I contemplated September’s blog the question that crossed my mind is should I contribute commentary on the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks and seriously what can I say that would be of significance? It seemed pretentious to write about it especially as one who did not personally lose someone to …..I don’t even know what to call it...a tragedy? I don’t like that description as it implies randomness and there was nothing indiscriminate about what happened; yet all descriptions pale. On the other hand how can I post a blog in September ignoring that this is a landmark anniversary? I think I asked the wrong question. Every one of us lost someone in that historic event – a part of ourselves that was naïve to the horrors of war. The inherent innocence that was America’s DNA – national security - was gone forever. I decided why not write. I'm living this time in history.

I have, for the most part, avoided the annual coverage refusing to watch specials that revisit its images - why? What for? However, on last year’s anniversary I viewed a re-run of the Dr. Phil show. His guest was a New York City employee who was called down to the WTC to look for survivors. This gentleman spent the days and weeks following the attacks coming across pieces of death in all its deformity as well as fielding desperate requests from family members whose loved ones were missing. His sacrifice left him with PTSD, lung problems and so much emotional pain he is trapped inside a broken mind and body unable to engage in the present…his story is just one of 9/11’s ripple effects. The solidarity I felt with this man snapped me out of my own denial and I decided to face my own pain.

I spent last year’s anniversary reading articles, looking at pictures, viewing video footage and contemplating the changing of our world. Three pages later I had processed through some emotion. I thought about saving myself the effort of writing and post what I had previously composed, but so much of it is reflective of where my thoughts were then. This has not been an ordinary year in the life of Carol, but one of tremendous shifting…..a lot has changed, my views have changed and I have changed. I faced some of the darkest places in my soul and through this process have come to a deep understanding of how little of life I see or understand clearly. Secondly, my doctrinal foundations have been excavated leaving me a very differing theological worldview. Third, I have to admit I had been informed by media rhetoric that I no longer buy into. The only honest approach is for me to rework some of what I wrote to echo my current perspective.

What direction should this blog take? So many streams of thought flow from this one occurrence. When reading back over last year’s journal I could see myself chasing after each without any overall cohesiveness. The emotion attached plagued me as I wrestled with the idea of political ideologies, the building of a mosque on the WTC site and the increasing division in the nation following the attacks. It is hard to divorce the issues from passion that is attached to so much pain. The place that I am always drawn back to is how as Christ’s follower should I respond? I am disturbed with the divisive thinking that I see permeating the Body of Christ over the past decade; what I call us versus them thinking. We are in, they are out; we are righteous, they are not; we are chosen, they are the outcast. It gets applied to anyone who holds a differing philosophy, theology or ideology to our own; we all suffer degrees of it - it is the human condition, yet it has nothing to do with the message of Christ. The Gospel is that all of us are corruptible and Jesus came to bring redemption and reconciliation. Any other interpretation is a distortion.

I do not want to be influenced by divisiveness. This is not nor will it ever be God’s will. He calls us to love one another and to love our enemies. It’s a mandate – one that I struggle with especially when it comes to issues of violence, however, there can be no compromise. It is a non-negotiable when one calls themselves Christian. I HATE VIOLENCE! I hate it in all its manifestations. I think it is the only thing that a Christian can legitimately hate. It brings with it nothing but pain and it’s after affects are exponentially felt long after the initial blow - redemption is never attached to it.

I read an article for my Christian Ethics class that spoke to my heart. The chapter titled Idealism and Realism in the book War and Christian Ethics states,

"The Christian faith ought to persuade us that political controversies are always conflicts between sinners and not between righteous men and sinners."

The author also writes,

"It is a terrible thing to take human life. The conflict between man and man and nation and nation is tragic. If there are men who declare that, no matter what the consequences, they cannot bring themselves to participate in this slaughter, the Church ought to be able to say to the general community; we quite understand this scruple and we respect it. It proceeds from the conviction that the true end of man is brotherhood, and that love is the law of life. We who allow ourselves to become engaged in war need this testimony of the absolutist against us, lest we accept the warfare of the world as normative, lest we become callous to the horror of war, and lest we forget the ambiguity of our own actions and motives and the risk we run of achieving no permanent good from this momentary anarchy in which we are involved."

I too wrestle with my fallen nature longing to repay evil with evil, the desire for retaliation and retribution is very much still a part of my DNA. I was one of those, who in the rawness of the attacks, agreed with America’s decision to enter this war on terrorism. Even ten years later I am angry at those individuals who chose to board planes and participate in such a horrendous act of evil. But, what I am angrier about is that those who bore God’s image ended up twisting and distorting their souls into a caricature of humanity. Who is this God they chose to serve? Evil is the name of this God, no other. Yet, with this said, I have also come to ask the question has our response been anymore God honoring.

America has retaliated long and hard and it is no closer to reconciliation than it was the day we began engagement in this war. A large portion of the church continues to stand in righteous indignation toward those who are calling for peace. I ask isn’t it time for us to re-evaluate this strategy as a nation and especially as the Church? Should we as Christians support the use of violence in order to promote righteousness - is there such a thing as righteous acts of violence? I don't have an answer to these questions. What I am reminded of is our call to humility. When watching some of the original footage of 9/11; several of the NY Fireman were asked how they got out of a collapsed building, their answer was, “They walked toward the light.” My prayer is that we all continue to walk toward the light and may God give us wisdom, passion and a plan for reconciliation with each other and with those that call themselves our enemies.

"The church must be reminded that it is not the master or the servant of the state, bur rather it is the conscience of the state. It must be the guide and the critic of the state, and never its tool. If the church does not recapture its prophetic zeal, it will become an irrelevant social club without moral or spiritual authority" MLK Jr.