A final memory finishes out my month of remembering backwards. It’s from one of my waning day visits with Mom.
I never wore the Caregiver title with my mom. Frank, her husband, performed countless labors of love. Day in and day out he cared as her confusion grew and communication diminished. He never wavered in loving my mom through dementia.
This day I remember was near the end of a short visit.
Visiting mom from across the country always began with anxiety and unsureness. How would I love my changing mama? Always, by the end, our time together felt like a gift in surprising ways. Maybe I had the privilege of bathing her and hearing her say, “That’s so nice,” reminding me of all the years in my childhood when she had nurtured me. Maybe our walk through the neighborhood, brought happiness as we stopped to visit each kitty on her block.
This day I remember was near the end of a short visit. After a few quick days of simple activities: coloring together, singing silly songs, clipping roses from her garden and placing them in vases on the counter, my flight home approached.
Always, the end came. I left so soon after finding our new rhythms. This visit was especially hard. I remember back:
I meet her in the hallway. I look into her eyes and see deep sadness. I hold out my arms and she melts into my embrace, sobbing, pulling sorrow out of my heart. She knows! Although so many things don’t make sense to her anymore, she understands that I am preparing to say goodbye. This breaks my heart.
I let myself outside, alone, onto her backyard patio. The cold winter air blows on my face and hands, but sun pushes through, warming my skin. I plop down on her old, weathered bench, boards flexing under the weight of my stress. I gaze at the rosebush we trimmed together yesterday. My heart is overwhelmed with grief.
Silently, I lift my troubled thoughts to God. They feel too big and I don’t know how to cope. I think of one of our favorite songs, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” and the tears roll down my face. I hate the fact that I won’t be here to cheer mom’s grey skies. She will miss me. Leaving hurts her. And the next time I see her, she will be changed again. Lord, help me find my way…
Another song comes, tuning my heart to hope:
Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side
Keep on the sunny side of life.
It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way
If we’ll keep on the sunny side of life.
(AP Carter,1899)
The warmth of that sun on my forehead pushes dark despair away. What good to my simple mama if I sink down? Instead, I must grasp joy, lift my heart and spread it to her in these final moments of our visit. This is not a pretend sort of happiness, it is the real kind of “…sorrowful yet always rejoicing…”(2 Corinthians 6:10, NIV) that the Bible describes. On my own, I can’t do it. But God’s power fills mournful me, and I re-enter Mom’s house for a smiling, cheer-filled end to my stay. Then I have to leave.
This year, when May began, I determined to “remember backwards.” I choose to honor of my dear mama who went home to Heaven just days before Mother’s Day. Should I spend each May season grieving the loss of this wonderful part of my life? Or can I spread hope and joy in her name? She always chose the sunny side herself.
Pretending to be cheerful when your heart is full of sorrow is not God’s will for his children. I have discovered that when I am overwhelmed by grief, I have a choice to make. There is a way to pass through the pain, into hope. I can succeed only with help from my loving Father. He helps me to
“Take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5, NIV).
And so, I come. I bring my tears to the One who holds me and allows me to weep. These troubles really are horrible. I hate that my mom lost her sparkle. I hate how limited I was to help her in those final days. The Lord holds me. He strengthens me and then He gives me the power to rejoice. Surely, our “enemy comes to steal, kill and destroy.” It hurts to lose our people. But Jesus arrives right on time, bringing “life to the full” (John 10:10, NIV).
He makes all things good. The giver of sunny winter days meets us in the midst of our sorrow. When we lift up our hearts to the Father of heavenly lights, He infuses our grieving with joy.
