In moments of deep sorrow and grieving the loss of my dear mother, there is a memory that has come to haunt my heart. Every detail is etched into my brain, though a small portion of me wants to cease remembering this moment. On January 18, 2015 my mom lay in a hospital bed, her body straining for a breath as she lay unconscious. Death is nothing like the movies portray; even a 'peaceful death' is quite brutal to watch and hear. When we knew my mom's time was drawing near to leave us and be with the One who formed her, I held her hand and repeatedly told her to let go, to stop fighting, and to just go home to be with Jesus. These last nine months, that is so hard for me to recall because every fiber in my being misses my mom. It seems absurd to have begged to her to give up...
And then times, like this evening, clarity flashes before my heart. I remember what I was thinking and feeling in that moment and all the other moments in the twenty-one years prior as I sat front row to the horrific suffering of one I hold so dear. It was time...
As a child, it was a normal occurrence to stay with neighbors and friends for weeks on end while my mom was in the hospital. It was simply part of life to don surgical gloves, use needles, or change dressings in my parents' bedroom. I knew how to quickly pack a hospital bag after my mom, once again, threw up blood. While my mother was so strong, there were often times when she'd had enough of the pain, and deep sobs filled the air vents in our house. I learned how to listen, ask questions, and be the right amount of silly to bring a needed smile or laugh. As bad as the suffering for my mom was when I was a child, it was nothing compared to what lay ahead in my adult years. Of course, all this I remember with much more vivid detail...
Late one evening three years ago, my dad carried my mom, just like all the times before, into the emergency room. Unlike all the times before, my mom didn't know who she was or who he was or anything at all. As much as hospitals have been a way of life for me, something broke in me that night. It was the first time I had to leave my mom, go out into the hall sobbing, and call a friend to come be with me. My mom had looked me in the eye and told me she didn't know who I was. There weren't categories in my brain for this! Little did I know that my brain would form so many more unwanted categories before the week was finished. My mom's internal bleeding had poisoned her brain to the point that she was like a small child and had to be 'handcuffed' to the bed. Days passed as I sat next to her bed, lying to the nurses about my cold, watching her already frail body not eat for a week, and reading Psalm after Psalm until she would stop thrashing and rest. I was hoarse by the time she started to come back to us, but there was no sweeter moment than when I asked if she knew who I was and she responded with my nickname, confused why I'd ask that.
A year later the situation repeated itself, this time worse. She'd never regained the lost weight from before, and her body was weaker. She had to be put on a respirator, so she was unable to talk. Her eyes just floated to me helplessly, pleading for help to go home, anywhere out of this pain and confusion. By God's grace she recovered enough to go home and leave the doctors scratching their head with what happened. But God hadn't healed her, just given her and us more time together...
This has been a blog written about suffering, but even though I could fill dozens of posts on that topic, I don't want to miss another element that always seems linked to suffering in the Bible: that of joy. While what I wrote above hasn't even touched the horrors of all that my mom suffered, there has come to be a sweetness and joy found in these memories. Not dismissing the grieving or pain of it all, but instead fixing my eyes to see beyond the darkness to the light on the other side of the fog of this world. I can't speak for my mom, but I do know that who I am is richer and fuller having faced such enormous suffering in my life. Yes, I wish I could close my eyes and see a healthy mom in my memory, but so much of life isn't health, wealth, or happiness. This lesson I learned at a very young age. The suffering I watched my mom walk in helped me know Jesus and His resurrection so much more fully. The fullness of the Gospel collides with this world's and my own brokenness...
When life slows for a moment, and I find myself quiet and alone, my mind often wanders to that evening in January nine months ago. As much as I hate that it represents that my mom is no longer part of my earthly life, I rejoice that it happened. She is free. She is home. She has no more pain. No more tears. There is the fullness of joy in His presence, and all suffering has been erased from her mind!
