Mommy

When I was ten years old, my mom died.

It was a quiet January evening in 2006. My sister and I were playing Bible Scattergories with a family friend. Our little sisters were playing a game on the computer. Our baby brother must have been sleeping. Daddy walked into the family room and declared, “I think Mommy just died.” He sat heavily on the couch and began to sob. All four of us girls began to cry and wail.

After only a moment, I was struck by an urgent need to see her. I walked slowly through our kitchen, and down the dark hallway to my parents' bedroom. There, in the hospital bed, lay my mommy. She looked asleep. She looked at peace, for the first time in years. I remember touching her face gently. It was still warm.

I left the room as the rest of the family entered. I had pee. But there, in the bathroom, I received the most amazing gift. I felt what was surely the peace of God descend on me there, on the toilet (of all elegant places). Everything was going to be ok. Yes, my mom was gone. She was in heaven, and the pain of cancer, the heart failure, were completely healed. She could sing again, with her dad, the praises of the Savior she loved and served above all else.

That peace I continue to carry with me. There are certainly hard days. It seems as I grow up I am able to put in better context the horrors Mommy went through. Heart failure, the premature birth of my brother, and then a brain tumor. Life altering surgery, which crippled her for the rest of her life. Being unable to be the mother she wanted to be. Beginning to recover, then having the cancer return. That time to take the use of her limbs, and eventually her life. The pain, the sorrow, the frustration. I can only dimly imagine, but perhaps that is also a gift.

I continue to be amazed that I only ever once heard her complain. That was an accident, I am sure. Sometime during the last few months, with the tumor growing once again in her skull, the fluid was building up. She was asking for pain medication, and told her caregiver, “It pounds, and pounds, and pounds!” At that point someone closed the bedroom door, and I left. That moment is seared in my brain. It was so out of the ordinary.

One of my favorite memories of my mom actually happened around the same time. My dad had left for work and Mommy and I were cuddling in bed. Somebody called to talk to her, so she sat up to take the phone call. After she hung up, she lay back down. Mommy basically had to launch herself backwards, and had little control of her movements. She landed right on top of me, and we bonked heads! Of course it hurt a little, but mostly we just laughed and laughed. Even in the midst of the frustration of barely being able to control her own body, Mommy found the joy of being together.

Ten, almost eleven years, is arguably not enough time with one's mother. But it is more than any of my three sisters or my brother got. I could be bitter and complain about it being too short, or how it was too hard, or why would a good God make my mom die when she was only 37. Why would God leave us five kids without a mom? With almost no memories of her whole and healthy?

I don't have all of the answers to these questions. I am not God, and would not dare speak for Him. But I do know that He is good. That He loves me, made me and takes care of me. That all of His providences, the hard and the easy, are good as well. I can look back and my life and see that if my mom had lived, my life would have turned out completely differently.

Of course, I wish she was still alive. That we could sing together, and that she could meet her namesake, my daughter. I wish that she hadn't had to suffer so much in her life on this earth. I wish I had taken more time with her, whether that was talking, asking questions, or even just cuddling on the couch watching tv. I wish I had better understood what she was going through and been more sympathetic. But I don't beat myself up. There is no point. What is done is done, and cannot be changed.

 

Thankfully, by God's grace, and in His strength, I have been able to move on. My life is full, and it is good. I have a husband, a daughter, friends, and students. I have two more brothers, two more sisters, and a (step) mom. Life is different than I would have imagined it to be 14 years ago, but no less beautiful.

This healing is surely not my working, but God's. In His great mercy, He extended a peace that passes all understanding. He has carried my burdens, for I surely could not on my own. Thank you, Jesus, for your work in my life. For saving me, and for carrying me through my darkest days. Without you, life is not worth living!

Please, know this. Jesus says, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) He is willing and able to carry all your sins, all your pain and sorrow. Go to Him, repenting of your sins, requesting mercy, and He will give it to you. Lay on him your pain, and He can carry it.

One of my favorite hymns is “On Jordan's Stormy Banks I Stand” by Samuel Stennett. To me, it perfectly encapsulates the already and not yet of our life here on this earth. I love to imagine my mommy, once again whole and healthy, singing in heaven.

1. On Jordan'’s stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’'s fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.

 

2. All o’er those wide extended plains,
Shines one eternal day;
There God the Son forever reigns,
And scatters night away.

 

Chorus: I am bound, I am bound,
I am bound for promised land.

 

3. No chilling winds nor poisonous breath
Can reach that healthful shore;
Sickness, sorrow, pain and death,
Are felt and feared no more.

 

4. When shall I reach that happy place,
And be forever blessed?
When shall I see my Father’s face,
And in His bosom rest?

 

 Oh, how I long for the day that she and I are reunited at the feet of our Father!