My Mother's Final Gift

Four years after my mothers passing I find she still has profound influence on my choices today.

On March 8, 2008 my mother passed away.  On March 8, 2008, I turned 44.   I remember feeling very conflicted.  I felt extreme honor that this was the day written in her book.  I felt contrite as this was something my sisters could not share.

My sisters and I had already come to terms with the fact that our mother was about to die.  We had an unspoken understanding that what was best for her was of far more importance than our own broken hearts.  Looking back I see what a sacrifice that was for each of us.  I also know in this decision, our hearts beat as one.  It humbles me still.

When the time came, something stirred in my middle sister bringing us all to my mother's side.  We placed our hands on her and each of us, in our own way, told her it was time for her to be free  Though we knew how much she wanted to live we also knew it was not to be.  With that, my mother's crystal blue eyes opened one final time.  In that moment, what I saw in her eyes took my breath away.  They were no longer looking earthward.  In her eyes I saw a flash of surprise, followed by understanding, wonder and awe.  And then she was no more.  We bore witness to the passing of her spirit, just as she bore witness to the ushering in of ours.  I believe in that moment my mother looked into the glory of Heaven and knew God. 

Her body lay still beside us.  Her spirit had taken flight to its rightful place.  I had a flash of understanding that my mother now knew Everything.  All of the secrets kept concealed from the living were revealed to her upon her passing.  There is no doubt in my mind or in my heart that this is the absolute truth.

Within the next few moments, the grief I had pushed aside for my mother's sake rained down.  The pain of separation was impossible to describe.  Because this is not a story about my grief, however, I will leave it at that

Eventually, as is the case with all trials in life, life resumed and the sea of my grief ebbed.  I became able to resume the business of living, but in a new and different way.  I learned to live with my mother's memory rather than her presence. 

It has been almost four years since that day and I sit here on the eve of my 48th year.  Time has softened the edges of my memories regarding her illness and her pain.  More and more my memories are of my mother's unending love for her children, her sense of humor and her sense of pride in making the right choices for her life.

I was not a child brought up in faith or religion.  My father was agnostic and my mother was a believer in a faith indeterminate.  I was allowed  to seek my own path.  I brought forward into adulthood the skepticism of the agnostic, and an uncertain belief it a masculine figurehead of life called God.

Through some turbulent and dark times in my early adulthood, I sometimes found myself calling His name.  Each time, I recall I was rescued.  But, as is with the fox-hole prayer, once the danger subsided, I would return to the path of my life, forgetting the promises I made "if only" God would save me. 

Recently, through my father the agnostic I was introduced to the idea that there might be some substance to the claims of the Christian doctrine.  The same doctrine I adamantly denounced in my youth due to ignorance and prejudice.  Several things came to pass, and one day I found myself sitting in a house of worship in the role of a seeker.  In this house, I found wonder, meaning and peace.  I  felt extremely humble, unworthy and lonely.  I confessed these things to a Being I still knew nothing of.  The answer to this silent confession was an immediate picture of my mother and I cried out her name in silence.  I was answered with an assurance that there were things larger than I,  things of which I had no understanding and that all would be well.

I have continued to show up at that house, and I begun to study the Book of the Ancients.  I have begun to understand that my heart is able to understand that which my mind can not.

I believe that it was my mother who brought me to that place.  In my heart of hearts, I believe my mother interceded on my behalf, whispered a request that the Lord intercede, and open my mind in order to open my heart.

I lost my mother in life four years ago, yet I have absolutely no doubt that she continues to help guide me today.  Every time I begin my ceremony of worship, I find myself calling my mother's name.  When I seek her, I feel the Spirit enter that holy place within.  It was through my mother that I was finally able to receive my Father.

How many times can a daughter say thank you to her mother?  Not enough.  Not enough. Never enough.

I love you my dear mother.  I am certain that I will once again see you, when it is my turn to be called home.
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Author's Note

A very personal story which I share - to my own surprise.

Reviews

[MOON]

lovely tribute to your mother . The spirit never dies but the loss of the physical is difficult to come to terms with and life is lived differently.

[roarke]

a well written clarity of affirmation and homage.

[Ed Hart]

thank you for this personal and wonderful sharing...you are fortunate beyond measure in your parents, and it shows in your heartfelt writing...you are a gift to us