I know I have been silent. It doesn't mean that I am not here. It just means that life has gone on. Not much has changed. Recently a dear friend died. There was a time, and this is hard for me to say, that she was more of a mother to me than my own. At that time I was immature and ignorant. It is unfortunate that I didn't understand the true effect my own mother had on me and my life until after she was gone. You hear that all the time, don't you? As is the case with my infertility, I try to impart words of wisdom (which come from life experience) to those around me. When a friend complains about her mother, I try to encourage her to look past those things which annoy or are below standard, and love her through it. Because, dear friend, when she is gone, she is g.o.n.e. There is no turning back. And living life with regrets is no way to live.
So, this friend who recently died, she was the godliest woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. She lived a very quiet and simple life. But she lived every one of her days preparing for the moment she would meet her savior, every moment preparing for that day when her faith would be sight. Well, she is sitting at his feet right now.
I learned so much from her during the tenure of our friendship. I learned about loving the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul and strength. I learned about loving others more than yourself. I learned what it was to be your husband's helpmeet - until death parts you. I learned that there is nothing more important on this earth than your relationship with God.
So, what do I take away from her death and her life? I need to do better. Plain and simple. I have failed at every turn. My life is more than half over and if I were to die today, I would hide my face in shame from my savior. Oh wretched [wo]man that I am...who shall save me from this body of death? Praise be to Jesus, my Lord and my Savior.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Our Last Conversation
I never did write about the last conversations I had with my mother before her death. I've left these out mainly because it hurt too much. The pain was so fresh, I thought it would tear my heart out. But it is the only piece still missing in this story, so I will give it a try now.
I am a Christian. A follower of Christ. I believe that Christ is the Son of God, that He came to earth as a baby to live a sinless life and to die, crucified, on the cross. This He did to atone for my sin, to pay the penalty I could not pay. I believe that He rose again on the third day and now resides in Heaven at the Father's right hand. It is by the grace of God alone that He called me by name and saved me. This not of myself. I did nothing. I was raised a Roman Catholic. I was taught that yes, Christ died on the cross for my sin, but I had to work my way into heaven, nonetheless. This is a lie. Those who believe this, or any other "gospel" are headed for hell. Full stop. My mother was a Roman Catholic her entire life. I had tried, many times, over the years to share the truth with her. Early on I was zealous, later on I was more discreet. Trusting God's will to be done, which it always is.
I made sure that my mother knew how much I loved her and what a wonderful mother she was. She said that she hoped God thought so too. It was here that I shared the gospel with her. I made sure she knew that it was through Christ alone that she will enter Heaven. That she could never be good enough, because no one is. Before I left I tore out pages from my Charles Spurgeon devotional and left them on the table for her. These pages clearly explained the gospel, in more eloquent words. Clearly my mother had read these pages. She brought them with her to the hospital this last time. She must have read them, they were in with her prayer cards. So she knew the truth.
I told her that all the best in me was because of her. I told her I loved her very much. I held her tightly. I didn't cry. I had to hold it together, for my daughter. For me. I wasn't very eloquent in my speech, I was holding back tears. I knew my mom was in so much pain, although she never told me as much (protecting her baby until the last). I said my last good bye.
Our last visit had to end. I had prolonged our stay for a week to help care for her when she came home from the hospital . This I did, non stop. I was exhausted when the day came for us to depart. Even now, nearly three years later, I cry remembering that day. On previous visits I would always think, "maybe this is the last time I will see her alive." Half-heartedly, but a thought, nonetheless. This time I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I would never see my mother alive again. If I could put into words what it felt like leaving that day, I would. But there really are no words.
When we left, we headed east for a special two-day birthday surprise for my daughter. Upon arriving at our hotel I called my mom to tell her of our safe arrival. We talked for a few minutes. My mom asked me if I was happy. I answered the best I could at that moment. She knew she was dying. She knew that her time on this earth was limited, so she wanted to tie up loose ends. I reassured her that I would be fine, that I loved her so very much. And then the call ended. I wish I had talked to her longer that day.
Even now, nearly three years later, I have difficulty adequately recounting the events of those last days. Of all my siblings (with the exception of my brother who lives close by her) I was the last to have a visit with our mother, as our mother. By the time my sisters got there she was already in the last stages of her journey to death. I should feel blessed that I had that time with her, and I do, but I was not there the day she died. Everyone else was. I feel that something is left undone...and there is no way to complete it. I suppose, with time, the feeling with fade - maybe. Who knows. It doesn't really matter now. She's gone.
I realize that this is post is basic, at best. I have written as best as I can. The details will remain in my heart forever, as I relive those days when I miss her most. One day, hopefully not long from now, I will remember the happier, more pleasant times. But for now, for me, I am still grieving the loss of my mother. Yes, almost three years now. You can not put a time limit on grief. It is what it is, and for me - it is.
I am a Christian. A follower of Christ. I believe that Christ is the Son of God, that He came to earth as a baby to live a sinless life and to die, crucified, on the cross. This He did to atone for my sin, to pay the penalty I could not pay. I believe that He rose again on the third day and now resides in Heaven at the Father's right hand. It is by the grace of God alone that He called me by name and saved me. This not of myself. I did nothing. I was raised a Roman Catholic. I was taught that yes, Christ died on the cross for my sin, but I had to work my way into heaven, nonetheless. This is a lie. Those who believe this, or any other "gospel" are headed for hell. Full stop. My mother was a Roman Catholic her entire life. I had tried, many times, over the years to share the truth with her. Early on I was zealous, later on I was more discreet. Trusting God's will to be done, which it always is.
I made sure that my mother knew how much I loved her and what a wonderful mother she was. She said that she hoped God thought so too. It was here that I shared the gospel with her. I made sure she knew that it was through Christ alone that she will enter Heaven. That she could never be good enough, because no one is. Before I left I tore out pages from my Charles Spurgeon devotional and left them on the table for her. These pages clearly explained the gospel, in more eloquent words. Clearly my mother had read these pages. She brought them with her to the hospital this last time. She must have read them, they were in with her prayer cards. So she knew the truth.
I told her that all the best in me was because of her. I told her I loved her very much. I held her tightly. I didn't cry. I had to hold it together, for my daughter. For me. I wasn't very eloquent in my speech, I was holding back tears. I knew my mom was in so much pain, although she never told me as much (protecting her baby until the last). I said my last good bye.
Our last visit had to end. I had prolonged our stay for a week to help care for her when she came home from the hospital . This I did, non stop. I was exhausted when the day came for us to depart. Even now, nearly three years later, I cry remembering that day. On previous visits I would always think, "maybe this is the last time I will see her alive." Half-heartedly, but a thought, nonetheless. This time I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I would never see my mother alive again. If I could put into words what it felt like leaving that day, I would. But there really are no words.
When we left, we headed east for a special two-day birthday surprise for my daughter. Upon arriving at our hotel I called my mom to tell her of our safe arrival. We talked for a few minutes. My mom asked me if I was happy. I answered the best I could at that moment. She knew she was dying. She knew that her time on this earth was limited, so she wanted to tie up loose ends. I reassured her that I would be fine, that I loved her so very much. And then the call ended. I wish I had talked to her longer that day.
Even now, nearly three years later, I have difficulty adequately recounting the events of those last days. Of all my siblings (with the exception of my brother who lives close by her) I was the last to have a visit with our mother, as our mother. By the time my sisters got there she was already in the last stages of her journey to death. I should feel blessed that I had that time with her, and I do, but I was not there the day she died. Everyone else was. I feel that something is left undone...and there is no way to complete it. I suppose, with time, the feeling with fade - maybe. Who knows. It doesn't really matter now. She's gone.
I realize that this is post is basic, at best. I have written as best as I can. The details will remain in my heart forever, as I relive those days when I miss her most. One day, hopefully not long from now, I will remember the happier, more pleasant times. But for now, for me, I am still grieving the loss of my mother. Yes, almost three years now. You can not put a time limit on grief. It is what it is, and for me - it is.
Two Years
**I just realized that I never posted this. In three short months, it will be three years since my mother died. I will just say "ditto" to what I have typed below. The pain is still there. I am just better at living with it and hiding it from others. I feel so alone in my sorrow. Yet, I know that the Creator of this universe, the One who created me, is with me. Still, even today. Soli deo Gloria.
It has been two years since my mother died. If I stop and think about that, it blows my mind. Life has, in fact, gone on. The sun has risen and set 730 times since the moment my mother took her last breath on this earth. I am two years older. Other than that, nothing else has changed. That doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem fair. The absence on this planet of the woman who gave birth to me and raised me to adulthood should have more of an impact on this world.
My mother's departure from this world has left a large hole in my heart. I am not so sure that I will ever find anything to fill the void she left. I am thankful to God for His loving care of me over these last two years. He is the one who has helped me not feel so alone. He has wiped my tears away.
It has been two years since my mother died. If I stop and think about that, it blows my mind. Life has, in fact, gone on. The sun has risen and set 730 times since the moment my mother took her last breath on this earth. I am two years older. Other than that, nothing else has changed. That doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem fair. The absence on this planet of the woman who gave birth to me and raised me to adulthood should have more of an impact on this world.
My mother's departure from this world has left a large hole in my heart. I am not so sure that I will ever find anything to fill the void she left. I am thankful to God for His loving care of me over these last two years. He is the one who has helped me not feel so alone. He has wiped my tears away.
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