I have heard three stories recently of mothers who verbally told their children they wished they hadn’t been born. “Ouch!” for such wounded ones on Mother’s Day. I have friends who, because their moms passed away while they were young, grew up in homes of relatives. Other friends lived with mothers of mental illnesses, alcoholism, and other drug dependencies. Some had moms who emotionally and/or physically abused helpless offspring. And yet, when many of these friends share their stories they seem to have worked through much pain. They have left their moms in God’s hands. What echoes with them is a theme of forgiveness and gratefulness for the gift of life. I observe that these friends are fine mothers. But no mom is perfect. I tell my children, “Love covers a multitude of sins.”
My mom is a woman of faith, a poor pastor’s kid raised as the youngest of seven children. Her German parents, who were loving grandparents, were way too strict as parents. Examples: Mom had to repeat a second year of confirmation under her father’s tutelage because she giggled once during instruction; she couldn’t go to her school’s homecoming event when she was chosen its queen; gifts that were given to her by sympathetic church members were opened and then put away. If she were invited to a birthday party, she took one of those gifts. It must have been very difficult for this fun-loving, people person.
Of course, I didn’t learn these facts about Mom in one big knowledge dump. It came in dribs and drabs throughout the years. Mom didn’t care to talk about the past. She wasn’t a book reader or an ideas person; she was a doer—one who would go, go, go.
Now 86-year-old Mom has dementia, is legally blind, and has suffered several strokes that confine her to a wheelchair. Her one jaw doesn’t work well so the nursing staff chops up her food and feeds it to her. Over the six years she has lived at this home, I have seen her and many of her friends go from happy and healthy Bingo players to lethargic wheelchair sitters.
Mom lives 667.3 miles away from me, and I have “guilty daughter” feelings about not being there for her. I am grateful for the nursing home staff and nearby family members who care for her. My husband and I visited her last month–six visits over a weekend. She recognized me four of those times. When there is clarity, she answers “yes” and “no.” Sometimes it comes out in humorous ways.
My husband, raised a Baptist, told her the great-grandchildren observed a church baptism by immersion and then asked Grandpa and Grandma to baptize them in the local swimming pool. Mom was tracking what he said. I reassured her there would be no pool immersion by us. Then, I added, “Oh, Mom, that sprinkling we received in church, was good enough. Right?”
“Yes!” she quickly affirmed, with authority. For a brief time, my mother was back like I had known her all my life.
Because I thought Mom would enjoy listening to some hymns sung by a popular country singer, I purchased a small CD player. Wrong assumption on that gift-giving.
“Mom, do you like these hymns?” I asked as I Come to the Garden Alone finished sweetly playing.
“No!”
I took Mom outside to get some fresh air. As we sat on the patio she stared at me. I think she was trying to figure out who I was and why I had wheeled her outside. There, I tried some different music off my iPhone and You Tube: Doris Day sang Whatever Will Be, Will Be (Que Sera, Sera) and Lawrence Welk’s orchestra performed with “A one and a two….” I sensed parental stamp of approval.
This Mother’s Day, I feel like I hold two moms in my heart—the one of my past, who played many games with my brothers and me, and the mother now, who bides her time in a wheelchair, often with contentment and in submission to a dying body.
A couple of years ago, about the time the above picture was taken, I asked Mom what our family should do if she needed to be resuscitated. There was a long pause and then she said, “Well, take me to the Willow Room.” The Willow Room is the nursing home’s smallest living room that quickly transforms into a hospice room.
As Mom and I celebrate Mother’s Day I am thankful for her care of me throughout the years. Most of the time, we really haven’t understood each other’s personalities, but there has always been a tangled, strong love between us. As others say of their mothers, “She did the best she could.” The bonus was my Mom gave me many opportunities to hear the sparkling Good News of a bright future, a better Kingdom where we will be whole in Jesus–the one who holds everything together. At this point, that gift is quite enough for both mother and daughter.
P.S. Recently, I listened to this two-minute snippet by theologian Stanley Hauerwas on the gift of presence with a sick person who cannot communicate. Check it out.