I see the moon and the moon sees me
the moon sees the one that I long to see
so God bless the moon and God bless me
and God bless the one I love
Over the mountains, and over the seas,
That’s where my true love is waiting for me.
Please let the light that shines on me,
Shine on the one I love!
If I make it to heaven and you’re not there
I’ll write your name on the golden stair
I’ll write your name for all to see
just how much you mean to me
When I was a very little girl, my mama used to sing this song by my bedside. Nothing gave me more comfort than her gentle voice singing the lullabies that her own mama once sung to her in their Texas home by the Gulf. I only remember hearing the first verse and chorus. A favorite, I sung it to my own babies years later, as I rocked them nostalgically to sleep.
During the days when Mom was losing her memory, my sister went for a visit. She returned to Florida with a stack of Mom’s writings. Not knowing what else to do with them, she passed them on to me.
This I found in the midst of her heartfelt reflections:
“The night my Mama died
I cried and cried and cried.
My loss was so complete-
When nightfall came I could not sleep, my house held
in my soul so painfully tight.
With quilt and pillow out into
the star-filled night I flew.
The night time noises replaced my sobs
And then the moon god in
her chariot was pulled
across the sky by the
brightest star
and my eyes were finally
blessed with sleep”
-Mary Michaelis
As I read this glimpse of her tender soul, the depth of her grief when her mother was gone,
I wonder, I relate,
I consider the moon
and my own personal loss.
One night my own emotions surge too heavy for rest. My mom, my amazing friend, my teacher, is still here on this earth and yet I miss her so terribly much! I have watched year by year, visit by visit, as memory loss takes away many of her skills and communications. First it was moments of confusion. She got lost driving. Once she was completely overwhelmed in an airport, alone, and I had to phone talk her through to her gate. That terrified me! Later, she wandered out of her house, onto busy boulevards, and Frank, her husband, had to send the police searching for her. Then she lost all social awareness and would walk by a salad buffet, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth with her hand. She forgot and sang along with the orchestra at my nieces’ band concerts. But the conversations that I once loved to share with her, the deep talks about teaching, about parenting, about life, were no more.
Later still, she became as a little child. I helped her dress, bathed her, cut her nails. She was so very grateful. I took her to Lowe’s where she stopped at every flowering plant, trying to dead head them as if she were in an expansive garden of her own. In those days of unawareness, she sang surprising verses to songs. Once she sang a song about Jesus licking the leper. I though, “What? That can’t really be a song, can it?” But I looked the verse up online and sure enough, it was! She sang “If I get to heaven and you’re not there…” that final verse of “I See the Moon,” and I wondered again. I didn’t remember that verse. When I Googled it, I could find it nowhere. But pieces of her childhood seemed to float back into her mind and out of her lips, as she tried to color her empty plate, with an art pencil, meant for a coloring book she had already set aside.
In my own backyard, I gaze up at the moon she always loved. Some of us lose our loved ones in a moment. They are torn away from us violently through accident or illness. The pain is excruciating. But some of us lose our dearest friends very slowly. As the days of Alzheimers pass, my precious mama is waning. Her presence is ever changing, diminishing. I grieve the woman I used to depend on, the connections I used to treasure.
Another morning, early, I exit the house to run. Looking up, I see a faint image of the moon nestled behind pink dawn clouds. I think, again of Mom and the moon, and her waning presence in my life. One visit, while I kept her company with coloring pages, she spontaneously sang a gentle song,
“I love you, and you love me, and that is all, that is all.”
It filled me with a flood of contradictory emotions. I saw her essence, love, and prayed that when all was said and done, I too would be left with love at my core. I also fought back tears as I witnessed her limited ability to share words. This creative and intelligent schoolteacher, who guided and encouraged me most of my life, had a simple song and “that is all.”
It broke my heart.
My hope of heaven helps me bear the slow loss. Mom knew about Jesus. She loved Him and prayed to Him. She comes to God as a child. I believe I will see her fully restored when we both reach heaven. The laughter and the hugs will be wonderful! But for now we live in a world where “already but not yet” is law of the land. So how, for now, do I live with the knowledge that my precious mama is reduced to simplicity?
Then I remember how much of her I carry in my heart and in my mind. If I teach as she did, if I love another as she has loved me, she isn’t really gone at all. That ripple effect she started when she sang a sweet song to a sleepy little girl continues. I too can provide comfort and care to another soul song by song, visit by visit, word by word.
What if she knew this would be the last part of her story? Would she have shirked back from loving? Or would she have lived even more boldly and loosened every hesitation, every inhibition? Let me try. Let me be all the love that I can now. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. I remember. Let me love it all forward while it is still Today.
This post was originally written over four years ago. My precious mama made it across the finish line! She is waning no more. I pray that I remember the lessons to live each day as the precious gift it is.
