(Picture from google images—and no—I don’t look like this yet. Yet.) But it seems the older I get, the more I have to struggle to overcome it. Some days I don’t, and some days, like today—I did. Small victory—but a victory nonetheless.
I seem to be able to overcome some of it when I’m with our son and his family. They lift me out of my down periods and I get in the groove and go. I don’t want to be down when they’re around, so I pray that my spirits will be lifted up—and actually, they’re mostly the ones that lift them. How can you be down when you have your little grandchildren’s faces smiling up at you? I can’t! So they do wonders for my wrinkles—and what wrinkles they don’t do wonders for, I don’t care about, because I earned each and every wrinkle I have.
Instead of drowning in denial river—let me show you, again, a woman who was not like me. She wasn’t one to stay in and think about herself very much. Maybe
there was a time she wasn’t so strong, but for the last 45 years—she has been the strongest woman I have ever known.
When Mama was living in the nursing home, I couldn’t give in to my agoraphobic leanings. She needed me, and I needed her, and I went. Sometimes I wanted to hide inside the so-called “safety” of my house, but I didn’t, because she needed her baby girl,, and I needed her just as much. Oh –I don't think we stop needing our parents just because we’re older. I know I was very blessed to have Mama living and well into her 90s, and I was lucky to have her until I was 61. In fact, I always knew that she was a “younger soul” than I have ever been. She was always ready to be on the go, and up for anything. Always going and helping and taking food to shut-ins who were much younger than she. Sitting with widows who were much younger and helping them through whatever they were going through. Coming by and helping me fold clothes, or to take the kids out during the summer to give me a little break during the dog-days of summer.
Today, I went to the cemetery—her headstone was placed there yesterday. We stopped to look at it before we went to prayer meeting. My brothers now want to bury her ashes (which are still resting upon my piano since her cremation), beside Daddy.
She never planned to be buried, you know. She wanted to donate her body to science; that would be the last gift she could give anyone, she always said. Believe me, the morning after she died—early - before I’d got my eyes open(because I’d been at the hospital until after 5AM—when she had died at 4AM), the call saying she could not be a donor was what broke the dam. I had managed to get through losing her without that. Well, no. I had gone through periods of crying a little in the bathroom when I saw her going into small seizures and the oncoming signs of death, but from strength that came from God, I know, I was able to be strong for Mama and for my brothers and my son for that 12 days.
I was able to hold up and be strong for Mama as she had done for me so many times. And when the doctor came in at 4:20 to pronounce my 
mother had died, I graciously received his condolences and shook his hand, wrote Tracy a check for her service to Mama and wrote one for her to give the day nurse, too. I stood beside Mama’s body to watch as the nurses scurried around with the tasks they had to do, and I was able to say goodbye for the last time to Mama. I knew I had been very privileged to have heard the “whisper” to not leave her that night, to stay and be there with her….to be sitting by her bedside to see her hands reaching—not outward to me—but upward toward Heaven—and to be able to to take them in mine and say, “I love you, Mama!” And….to hear her say once more, “And I love you, too, Honey.” so clearly that I thought—she can’t possibly die. Not now. I was wrong to think that, of course.Earlier in the day, we had seen signs---signs that can’t be denied, even in a mind like mine that has always known denial—that she wouldn’t survive everything she had been through. Later when everyone had left, I was able to get down on my knees and pray that she wouldn’t have to suffer very long like that. She was still able to speak to us, but the difficulty she had breathing
—even with the breathing treatments---were so painful for her and for us. I believe she was suffering mini-strokes during that day, as well, because sometimes, her eyes would seem to not see me, and there were little convulsions. When the night nurse came in—she noticed something that I did not, and wouldn’t have known, had it not been for her. Did you know that when someone’s body is breaking down and getting prepared for death—the earlobes begin to turn inward. Like a leaf delicately folding in on itself, this change in the ear can be a sign of imminent death—and also a sign of an impending heart attack. Here. is where I read that. If you notice this in someone you’re well-familiar with—it may save a life someday. So—I knew, or I strongly felt—(although Mama’s heartbeat was as strong as mine not too long before that), ---that her heart was going to give out—her pulse was going to slow down, slower, slower, slower—and then stop. She was not on a heart monitoring machine, so I didn’t have to hear that long loud beep one hears on the TV doctor’s shows---and see the line on the monitor go flat…but I was there and I felt as her pulse, which had been strong only moments before slow, weaken—still steady—but getting slower and weaker until then nothing. Tracy and I looked at one another—sort of in disbelief---because of how strong it had been an hour before. But God has a time for each of us, and Mama’s time to go and be with him was at that time.Oh, my. I don’t know how I got started with this tonight—or what it has to do with agoraphobia. Nothing, nothing at all. I guess since our anniversary was just on June 30th, it also was a reminder that it was the 3 month anniversary of Mama’s death. And since I saw the new headstone today, I guess it’s been on my mind more than I thought. During Bible study, it left it for awhile, and I don’t sit here all day and night thinking about this all---but I wonder if this is normal? (Okay, I have to confess, I don’t think I’ve ever felt what normal is—I don’t even know what normal is!! DO you? Does anyone?) I guess it doesn’t matter what is normal—I don’t think we ever get over losing our parents…and if perhaps we’re closer to one parent than the other, perhaps it's "normal" to be missing that one a bit more.
Mama., I wish I were as strong as you—I wish I had gotten that “gene” you had—or whatever it was you had that I don’t. Is it too late for me to get some of it—can you send me some from Heaven?
In a world of few beautiful flowers and many painful thorns, you were a beautiful flower I’ll always treasure having for my Mother.
I miss you, Mama—I miss you so much.
Should I ask your forgiveness, dear Reader—for going through all of this once more? Can you think of it as sort of a therapy for me…as sort of a way to deal with the pain I still feel from losing someone who has been so important in my life? Even though it was not so shocking and traumatic as my daughter’s death nearly 13 years ago, it has been really, very painful. Back in those days—I could hardly think for the shock I felt of losing my firstborn—my beautiful, sweet daughter who died of an enlarged heart that resulted in a heart attack in her sleep. Only 31-years-old. But, Mama was here for me to help me get through it then and to help with our grandson—her great-grandson—her first. And my dear, always-here-for -me husband, and our son and his wife, and our friends—to help me cope with that awful pain. There were days I just wanted to give in and stay in bed all day or sleep all day long to not have to think about it. There were days I really wanted to die myself--to be with her. But I had a 7-year-old grandson who needed me and who was getting ready to start second grade that year—so I had to drag myself out of that fog I was in and go-- and help him get through his lost-ness, and try to answer the questions about his mommy.
I know—I know I have a lot to live for, and I am so thankful for those things. I know God has a purpose for my life, and for a while, it was seeing that Mama got the best treatment she could since I was not able to give it to her here in my own home—and that thought still pains me so much. The guilt I feel over it still stings me, but I know she would not want that.
So, Dear Reader--sorry for the change-around in the post..you were about to read my pity-party lyrics, and instead, you got a redux of Mama's passing and some of my pictures of her--most of which I know I've shown at one time or another on here.
God bless you on this coming weekend and then the week. I hope something very special and wonderful awaits you--and that you'll know that the Lord's face is shining upon you and giving you His grace in every moment of the day. And if the nights get long and lonely and dark, remember, His light never, ever fades or burns out--and He is just an unspoken whisper away. :)
