Remembering my Mother June 20, 1940 -April 24, 1970

Today, April 24, 2010 marks 40 years since my mother's tragic death.  I use the word tragic, because it still is.  Even though healing has come and my life has flourished.  Even though I can gaze at pictures and smile instead of cry.  Even though "inherited" memories bring a sense of peace and not sorrow.  Even though remembrances of her own brief life grace my home but do not grieve my spirit.  Even though God has indeed fulfilled Romans 8:28 and brought a rich goodness into my life...April 24, 1970 was a day of tragedy, unfairness and deep sorrow.

My mother was, in a moment, ripped from this world...my world.  I have spent 40 years wandering, groping, fighting, grieving, and eventually releasing the heart breaking mystery of her untimely death.  I have moved forward through the journey of sorrow.  I have not moved on.  Moving on would signify a desire to forget, to ignore the impact of her life on mine, to pretend that she does not occupy a sacred place in my heart.

Because she does.  Instead, I have moved forward through the mystery, without it ever being solved.  I have moved onward through the pain that at one time overwhelmed my being.  I have moved forward, not because I wanted to, but because I needed to.  So that I could, in the fullest way possible, be a devoted mother to my own children.  To continue in her footsteps of devotion to me, despite their brevity.

It's not supposed to be like this.  Drunk drivers are not supposed to get behind the wheel of a car...ever.  Mothers are not supposed to die before their 30th birthday.  Little girls are not supposed to touch their mother for the last time...in a casket.  But this side of Eden, there are lots of "not supposed to".  And if you don't have at least one,  you will.  Until our lives on this earth are fully redeemed, we will live with "not supposed to".

 Throughout the years, I have marked this day in various ways.  This year,as April 24th loomed on the calender, I began to ponder what I might do that was unique to where I am on this journey.  And it came to me.  I'm going to be a mother to my kids.  I'm going to kiss them and hug them when they wake up, wash their breakfast dishes, and hear their plans for the day.  I'm going to send them off to their scheduled events with my prayers and more hugs and kisses.  And they when they return home, I will be here... to listen, to laugh with them, to comfort them, to be there for them, in whatever it is that they need.

And I'm going to be a wife, and enjoy my husband and the beautiful life we share together.  I will hold hands with him as we go to the luncheon we have been invited to.  I will sit close, and watch him interact with people, knowing that out of all the people in the world, he picked me!  And at the close of the day, I will crawl into bed beside him, grateful for the shelter he provides for me.

I'm going to spend time with friends...some who are living their all-too-fresh-"not supposed to".  I will sit with God in the quiet of the day and give thanks that the Eternal Comforter has indeed covered me through seemingly endless sorrow.  

Today, I'm going to "live" this life that God has given me to live.  For reasons beyond my understanding, my mother's living was cut painfully short.  But I am still living mine.  And I want to live it fully, purposefully, richly.

 Remembering you Mom...with all my love...your daughter, Juanita

A Gift of Love

I have received countless gifts throughout my life.  Some gifts are in the realm of practical, yet still very much appreciated.  Others were given for my pure enjoyment.  Tangible, intangible...flashy, simple...unique, traditional.  I'm sure it would be quite a humbling experience to seek to recall all that has been bestowed upon me.

The other evening, my hubby and I, along with our two teenagers enjoyed a belated birthday celebration(for me) in my parents's home.  My stepmom is a gourmet cook, and so a meal is always a feast.  We were not disappointed.  This in itself is always a gift; I have an evening off from meal preparation, and am able to, yes, indulge in every tasty morsel set before me.  But I did know there was a birthday gift waiting for me, and I, like I think every other human being...love unwrapping gifts.  And so after we were all thoroughly satisfied, we moved to the livingroom to continue our visit...and "do" the birthday thing.  What fun!  Some lovely country placemats which have already been put to good use.  And, a Christmas star...yes country as well, with flickering lights.  How cool is that!!! 

I sat there with "Juanita" gifts on my lap, feeling thankful and blessed.  And then without warning it was sitting beside me.  Another gift, placed quietly beside me by my stepmom.  I looked at her and my Dad with a, "What's this?", inquiry.  I was told it was something "special".  Opening the top of the container revealed a banner of lace placed across a covering of turquoise tissue paper.  I began to gently remove the lace, opening one side of the tissue. 'Neath the tissue was more lace...beautiful lace.   My mind was still mystified...until I folded back the remaining tissue...and suddenly I knew.   My children tell me my face was "priceless". For me, it was one of those earth-standing-still-moments, as I gently touched  my mother's wedding dress.  A thousand thoughts and emotions pressed in on me;  I felt frozen...suspended in time, until I heard my father say, "It's okay, you can cry."

And I wept.  Deep, cleansing, freeing... weeping, while my stepmom stood beside me with her arm wrapped around my shoulder.

My mother's tragic death, several months after my fifth birthday, left me with an ocean of grief.   It was to remain a hidden calm within my spirit until my adult years, when the tides of sorrow came rushing in, threatening to overwhelm me.  The journey of grief work has been long, arduous, painful... with never a feeling of completion. Still, I am grateful for each healing balm which eases the loss yet a little more.

And now I find myself with her wedding dress in my home. I am still empty of words, adequate to convey my deep gratitude.  The initiative of my parents to plan and bestow this gift of love on me, has felt like yet another healing balm to cover me.  It is truly something I cherish.  The dress, with confetti still visible in the lace and satin bodice, now gracefully adorns a special place in my home.  I'm not sure if all that is unspoken within me will ever be fully expressed; for now, I am content to be awed at such a gift of love.

  "If you haven't already, you will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and you never completely get over the loss of a deeply beloved person, But this is also good news.  The person lives forever, in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up.  And you come through, and you learn to dance with the banged-up heart."
--Anne Lamott
"Plan B"