holy moments...



September Song

I visited my Mom Sunday.  It was a golden October afternoon.  We sat outside in the sun.  She always has always loved the outdoors.  She did not recognize me, nor could she say my name even when prompted.  I sat with her...trying to process my feelings, trying to understand, trying to keep tears from welling up in my eyes, but my heart was screaming for some kind of comfort that would not come. It was a holy moment...my world stood still.  Alzheimer's has stolen my mother.  Her body looks the same, but her soul is locked away in some secret place we can no longer reach.  There were only two things she remembered that day.  She recalled my Dad's name and that of her mother.  Through it all, it seems we always want our mothers.  All else is gone.  I keep her photograph on my dresser.  As I walk by that photograph each day, I see her beautiful face.  That is the way I will remember her...standing by the man she loved...holding her son.  It will always be her holy moment.  In September, 2007, I wrote a letter for her birthday celebration.  I dedicate it to her again and to all those wonderful men and women who work day and night to find a cure for Alzheimer's.  God's peace.

                                                                       September 23, 2007

Dear Mama,

We are gathered here today to honor you on your seventy-third birthday.  I hope this celebration makes you feel special and that you will always remember how much we all love you.  It makes me so happy to be here with our extended family.  Circumstances prevented our enjoying that closeness for years.  Now, it is especially sweet to experience it.

You were a child of the Great Depression – born in 1934 – right in the middle of the hardest of times.  You were one of thirteen – a big family of brothers and sisters who loved each other.  It is hard to imagine, but Aunt Margaret was 14 when you were born, and you were about four when she married Uncle Tiny.  Now, it seems that time has come full circle.  We have had so much fun sitting around her kitchen table!

I always loved hearing the stories of your growing up…how you adored going to the fields, being outside, always busy and into something.  I remember the stories of Papa’s pigeons, his honey bees and his “black” cats.  Remember the peals of laughter when we went down the list of nicknames Papa gave his children…all animal nicknames.  The picture of Papa sitting out at the woodpile is etched in my memory.  I see it often, and I wish so that I had known him so I could know you better now.  How often have we laughed about that little red wagon that he got you for hauling wood.  I know you loved it.  I remember the yellow piggy bank that Mama gave me for Christmas and her peaceful smile.  I always wondered what she was thinking and what her life had been like.  What would she have changed?  What was precious to her, and what did she remember every day?

You were a feisty girl…then and now. Tart and to the point you were.  I remember the stories you told of trying to contain Mary. It did not matter what kind of supervision she got, she still gave herself the famous haircut and then later sat on the railroad tracks with all family members fanning out through the farm to rescue her.  Remember, too, the time she fell off the porch into the water and mud, and there was some close escape with the car, the details of which you will have to tell.  I love the story of your finding Gene’s wedding ring at the grocery store.  That, in itself, is a magical story. It has to be one in a million for your brother-in-law to lose his wedding ring, and then you are the one to take it home in a grocery bag.  Things like that were always happening to you.  Maybe you had a bit of Irish fairy dust sprinkled on you along the way.  You told of how much you loved Alma.  You two were the closest in age.  That love did not prevent a big fight over the broken lanterns, though.  It seems two little girls got a big dose of discipline that night.  Aunt Doll was a big part of your life.  How much do we appreciate the times she and Uncle F.C. stopped by to check on you and Daddy.  I remember visiting them in Sumter at their first house and taking the billowing clothes off the line.  I was just a little girl, but it is still a warm memory.  Aunt Doll and Uncle F.C. were so generous of thought and deed.  The mountain visits were always so special, and I can remember so many birthday cards and Christmas cards. You kept them all.  I remember that they came to see Daddy that horrible March day before he died.  That memory, too, is one I will always carry with me.    

Uncle James, Uncle Sam, Uncle Vardell, Uncle Junior, Uncle Billy, and Uncle Paul were the boys in the family.  I know you wanted to spend more time with them.  Everything works out it seems, so now you are getting your chance. I am so happy to be a part of that.  Wanda, Lizzie, and Vivian, your sisters-in-law, have been there for you.  They have provided comfort and caring.  It is a great blessing to have extended family members to lean on.

And finally, no one can forget the story of how Uncle Vardell arranged that famous movie date for you and Daddy.  It appears that Daddy first sighted you riding around the yard on your blue bicycle bicycle.  We have laughed endlessly about you and that bicycle.  You, of course, said you looked at Daddy and it was love at first sight.  All I know is that he was your heart and soul for 54 years.  I know you miss him very much.  There will never again be a pair like you two.

I want to say that I admire how hard you have worked.  You have given birth to four children and nursed Daddy when he was dying. You have never complained.  You have sacrificed everything.  Perhaps some people do not understand that, but I do.  I want you to know that I recognize how much courage you have. You have suffered great loss and disappointment, but you lived your life the way you saw fit.  That is all any of us can do. One thing I remember your saying when I was a child was “life is like a vapor”.  You were so right.  Now, it seems impossible, but we are celebrating number seventy-three.  If I could, I would give you seventy-three more.  You are my mother and I love you.  Amanda and I wish you the happiest of birthdays.  As the Message says, “she shall rejoice in time to come.”  That is my birthday wish for you.

Always!