She's dead.
That's the thought that caused me to break down into an emotional sobbing heap on a clear, cold spring day in North Carolina. Until then, I guess it really hadn't sunk in. I hadn't truly grieved my mother's January passing. But was she?
One of the enduring legacies of my mom was her fervent belief in the power of prayer. And of course that power couldn't hold any weight if there was no belief in God--or at least a concept of God, a world beyond this one and a knowledge that we are far more than simply our bodies.
I'm just a couple days away from my belly button birth. I'll be fifty-four on November 1st--All Saints Day. It will be the first birthday without mom. Last year was chaos. I was so distraught over family matters, mom's deteriorating health and an impending move to North Carolina that I was mentally incapable of considering the things I am writing about now. I was angry. I was hurting. Mom had become my best friend in the last years of her life and I felt that people were trying to convince me that I was abandoning her. I wasn't, of course. My husband and I had weighed seriously the implications of our move. Bringing mom with us was an option we were fully willing to endeavor. Unfortunate events made the transition heartbreaking and severe. My mother was taken to Maryland to stay with my oldest sister. The intervening months would hold nothing but sorrow for the severing of our living arrangement...and for mom, an unexpected diagnosis of uterine cancer.
Last November 1st this guy was on automatic pilot. Prayer wasn't easy. But then again, prayer really isn't easy in the throes of severe emotional or physical pain. At least for me, it isn't. Aside from the occasional self-pitying cry out of "why me?" there wasn't any real connection with the God I communicate with from time to time when life seems relatively peaceful and my daily routine is fairly undisturbed. I know that one of the darkest times in my life was a time when prayer didn't come easy. Hell, it didn't come at all. I was in the hospital after three surgeries which basically saved my life. I think I tried to pray but it just didn't happen. But mom was praying fervently. So were many people of great faith who were enlisted by others on my behalf. It's not a stretch to say that I am pretty sure it's those prayers that saved my life. So...what if it had been the other way around? What if my life had ended on that operating table in March of 2016?
I don't like to think about it but it could have very easily happened. At the time, my husband and I were the primary caregivers to my mom. What would have happened? In some alternate reality, I see my mom grieving. I see her losing her baby boy. I see my husband and siblings in a state of shock. Of course, it would have subsided and life would have continued but how would mom's faith have been affected? Would that great emotional pain have altered anything? It's only speculation of course but I doubt it. Such was her faith. Such was her belief--true belief--in God. Why do I believe this? I have her words...from her prayer journal. April 12, 2016:
The past week has been very stressful but thanks to all my children we have come through a trying time as we hope and pray for Tom's recovery. Both Mary and Amy have gone the "extra mile" and Eduardo has been as faithful in his commitment. When we actually realize how close we came to losing Tom we know that God in His goodness and the many prayers of family and friends were answered. I am sure we have all learned something from this experience--that will make us better and more compassionate people.
I am comforted knowing that I come from such faith. My prayer is that I can tap into it more often as I grow in prayer and learn new ways to meditate. I miss mom each and every day. I miss the talks we used to have about the faith we shared. As long as I live, a part of her does as well.
She's dead?
When I broke down on that cold Spring day I felt her loving arms around me. I wasn't alone.
She's not dead.
(Mom and I. Pennsylvania. December, 1974)
