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.

Hope

I recently had a conversation with a friend who responded following our dialogue, “I need to hear hope”.   Yes, it’s true I have been navigating a faith crisis, what some would call a Dark Night of the Soul.  My seminary experience challenged me to my core; relationally, theologically and emotionally exposing the buried shame, pain and questions of a traumatized past and defended by a religious system that promises what it was never intended to deliver.  As if this was not enough stress, my mom’s health failed and as some of you know she died less than two months ago.  Nevertheless, my friend’s statement had me seriously contemplating the definition of hope. 

I did what I initially do when I begin to ruminate; I pulled out my thesaurus.  Words like confident, expectant and optimistic jumped off the page…. secure, cheerful, content, undisturbed and upbeat challenged my current sensibilities.  So I moved on to the antonym section.  Discouraged, disheartened, dreary, gloomy and pessimistic are not terms that I would use to define my present attitude either.  I am grieving.  I am in pain over multiple losses which include my mom’s suffering and foreseeable death; the reality of deception both self and other driven; dreams deferred and deceased; time robbed that should have been spent building a career and family; and the sheer weariness of navigating a life long journey to restore health and hope.  Yes it’s true, I have spent the larger portion of my graduate career weeping, wailing and lamenting….. does that indicate that I am or have been without hope?

My answer is a passionate and emphatic no!  Hope is not solely an emotive expression or affirmative sound bite that offers shallow responses to wells of agony.  Hope is the human drive to survive… an instinct; a survival mechanism and an internal motivation to move forward when everybody and everything screams, ‘give up’.  Hope is intrinsic to being human – it is engraved on each individual’s heart and is primeval.  Hope is the motivation to continue to exist or function in spite of adversity.   It is something that propels me forward even when I can’t clearly see – it causes me to persist, ride out, carry on, endure and weather the storm.  At my lowest point, when hope’s vision was eclipsed, I had the word “Hope” tattooed onto my wrist.  The very act of doing the opposite of what my internal life screamed speaks to hope. 

Theologically I ask the question - was Jesus propelled by hope to endure the cross?  I am pretty sure that his countenance was not cheerful or upbeat.  I can confidently surmise that grief accompanied Christ’s journey to his crucifixion, yet it did not obscure the joy that was set before him.  I would say that my life has been and continues to be a testimony of hope.  I have had to fight against and endure obstacles that most, gratefully, will never have to.  I have had to persevere, to rise above conditions that would and has bankrupted others.   Yes, I may be experiencing a season of sorrow, but I can say with all confidence I do have hope......and so do you.