Today is a sad day. I learned that my Mom is slowly going blind. I know. She's 83, and that's what happens to us when we grow old. But my Mom is a great lady, and she's suffered much in her life. Everybody thinks their Mom is great, but mine really is. She's faced enormous difficulties, and my prayer for her has been that the latter years of her life would be rich and full of peace in order to make up for all the trauma she experienced during her younger years. But even a spotless, happy old age, if it had come to be, could in no way begin to make up for the devastating losses Mom endured. Life is not fair.
I know how proud she is and I know that blindness will break her heart. When I say she's proud I don't mean that she's proud in a bad way. She takes pride in her independence, and blindness will rob her of some of that independence. Mom, although she protests loudly, is very good at taking care of others, but she doesn't easily give herself the grace to take care of herself.
Mom stuck with me through some really awful surgeries and other situations in my life. She held my hand through horrific muscle spasms and spent many sleepless nights just sitting by my bedside so that I could rest. She washed my sheets, put me on the bedpan, and saw to it that I was turned regularly to avoid getting bed sores. She washed my hair and gave me sponge baths so I could feel beautiful. When Ryan told me that I was a crippled frog, Mom told me that I was pretty, and that Ryan was just being a silly boy. She told me that no matter how mean the kids were, I was not allowed to use my braces to kick and hurt them. She told me that even my worst days would be over and that things would be brand new the next day. If I could have chosen a career for my Mom, I would have chosen nurse. She would have been an excellent nurse. She has the uncommon gift of knowing how to alleviate suffering.
I'm old now, and I still find that I call Mom just to hear her voice on the phone. The sound of her voice still soothes me. That voice is part of her gift. I wish Mom didn't have to go blind. I wish I could gouge out my eyes and give them to her. But more than anything I wish I could ease the suffering of the one who so often eased mine. As her eyes grow dim, I hope she will retain unfading memories of the beautiful things she's seen in her 83 years.
Not all was always rosy. Mom and I had our disagreements. She says that I have a quick temper, that I always fix blame instead of accepting responsibility myself, and that I don't observe or think before acting. In first grade we had reading workbooks titled, "Think and Do". Mrs. Tuinstra had told Mom and Dad that they should rename the workbook, "Do and Think" for me. Mom heartily agreed with Mrs. Tuinstra. (I hated those workbooks anyway.) Mom said I was a dreamer, and quite the opposite of my brother and sister who were more like their father had been. Throughout my life these judgments often cut me and they still continue to accuse me, trip me, and make me want to give up. Mom's voice isn't always soothing and healing. But after years of fighting and bucking her judgments I have come to accept that she was mostly right about me. And I think she loves me in spite of my weaknesses of character or sin, which we like to call it in church.
Sometimes Mom talks to me about one of the things that I said that wounded her the most, and that is the day that I told her that I wished she had died instead of my Dad. It was an awful thing to say, and I regret giving that thought words. Many years later I explained to Mom that I was just a little girl grieving for a Daddy I loved, and that of course I didn't mean what I had said. But I think it is hard for Mom to forgive me for that one because that comment so increased her own pain. Time has healed me, and I hope it has healed her, as much as time can heal. I both tried to explain my girlish outburst to her, and apologize for what I said back then. I'm glad Mom lived a long life. I value her life, and I would never want it cut short. What I really wish is that death didn't have to separate Mom, Dad, or anyone else I love. I wish Mom (and Dad) could live forever. And they do, just not here.
Mom didn't much like traveling and so she didn't visit us often once we moved away. One spring she made a rare visit to our home. The house was small and cramped, and Bryan gave up his side of the bed and his position next to me so that Mom would be more comfortable. Upon waking on the last morning of Mom's visit she gave me her blessing. She told me that I was a good wife and that Bryan was an excellent husband. She told me that I was doing a good job with the kids, that I kept the house beautifully, and that she was very proud of me. I drank that blessing in the way a thirsty man might guzzle ice cold beer on a scorching day in the desert sun. That would be the last visit that Mom would ever make to our home, and so I cherish and replay that blessing in my mind to this day.
Last summer I spent a week at Mom's house. I could see her failing. I could see the beginning of death. Sometimes she was confused, and she didn't want to drive at night. She is lonely living there in that big house on 27th Street. She sleeps a lot, and sometimes she tells me the same story three times in the space of an hour. One morning she came into "the boys' room" where I was sleeping to wake me up for breakfast. She bent down over the top of my bed, kissed me and said, "I love you Ruth. Good morning." I wish I could have frozen that moment in time.
Mom isn't perfect, but she is pretty darn close. If she saw this blog and read the word "darn", she would very likely get out the Lava soap and wash my mouth clean. When she gets to heaven I hope that God remembers all the suffering that she eased. I hope he remembers her love for the unlovely, and the hope she had for the hopeless. I hope that God makes it all up to her and that her joy is great. And tonight, since I can't be with her, as she falls asleep in her big old bed, I hope that the Lord bends down, kisses her on the head, and says, "I love you Bernice. You were a wonderful wife and you did a great job with those kids. Good night."
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