Mom's Heart

I am reposting this with permission of the author, the daughter of one of our hospice patients.  She sent it to me by email earlier this week.  I appreciate her allowing me to share it here, so you can allow her Mom and her writing to inspire and bless you, too...

Life lessons come in unexpected packages. I have long known of a company Artful Ashes in Seattle. They take a small amount of your loved ones cremated remains and hand blow either a heart or an orb incorporating the ashes into the glass. They are extraordinary and there are many color choices for the glass. After much consideration, I chose a heart with brown and amber gold swirls. It reminded me of her.

The heart arrived this week and it is beautiful - and comforting to have a bit of Mother with me. After the first day, I noticed that the heart is more than just a bit asymmetrical as one side is decidedly bigger than the other. My first reaction was that while the heart is beautiful, it was not perfect. I wanted it to be perfect. In anticipation of my call to Artful Ashes, I was prepared to tell them that of course they never knew my Mom, but perfectionism was something she was known for.

I have a vivid memory of accompanying Mom on a visit with her alteration lady, Mrs. Simmons, at her home. She had a fitting room complete with a three sided tall mirror on a raised platform and all the fascinating accouterments of sewing - pincushions of all sorts, one of which was worn on her wrist, and a skirt hem marker that with a squeeze of the rubber bulb would make little horizontal lines of chalk as the client slowly turned. Fascinating stuff indeed. The purpose of this visit was to correct a back zipper in a skirt that did not lay completely flat against Mom's backside. This newly purchased suit still had the tags, but Mom absolutely would not wear it until the offending zipper was replaced with one that laid properly. In my child's mind, and perhaps in Mrs. Simmons' as well, was the thought - who cares, the jacket covers it! I can still see Mom on that raised platform in her stiletto heels patiently saying to Mrs. Simmons, "It simply does not lay right." It was not perfect.  Mother struggled with this idea that all had to be perfect for most all of her adult life. A notion that also dovetailed with the "I'll be happy when . . . " issue.

So as I gazed at this imperfect, asymmetrical heart I thought that Mom simply would not want this to be how a part of her spent her eternity - in this decidedly one sided heart. And then I began to think. I thought about how Mom was in the last few years and I started to form this realization that she definitely had two sides to her heart. Almost to the very end, Mother could be demanding, petulant, and critical. She could make you wish you were anywhere else on the planet rather than have to deal with her! But more and more in those last few years, that side of her heart got smaller and smaller, and the side of her heart that was kind, generous, and loving got larger and larger.

Daughters inherit many things from their Mothers and both my sister and me inherited this desire for perfectionism - we struggle with it even now. When I would call Mom with some complaint that something I had attempted to do did not come out as I wanted - that it wasn't perfect - she would say, "Oh honey, I'm sure it's beautiful. It will be okay just like it is." And then I thought - she was always like this with us - loving us in spite of our imperfections.

This heart, that I will look at every day for the remainder of my life on this earth, will be a reminder to me to let the good side of my heart always be bigger than the other. So Mom, thank you for the life lesson. You continue to inspire me.

Fruit, Death, and Reason

My little neighbor brought me a bowl of fruit yesterday.

A wonderful thing to receive from a 5-year-old, anytime. Only it was completely her idea and inspired by a dream that she gave me a bowl of fruit.  With lemons.

I can’t help but wonder about the timing of the delivery and the dream that inspired it.

Sometimes, children are placed on hospice.  I’ve known this, but I got to know it in a new way last week.  She was 6-years-old and died on the same day my little neighbor dreamed she brought me a bowl of fruit.

I told my neighbor’s Grammy about my emotional week and how a fruit delivery from a little one couldn’t have come at a better time.

I explained that I couldn’t sleep during the wee hours of the previous morning, so I got up and prayed.  I prayed most especially for our newest and youngest patient and learned later it was at that time when “our” earthly angel became a heavenly one.

She thought that was interesting because my little neighbor had the same trouble sleeping and called for her, at the same time.  Grammy mentioned something about us being “connected”.

Are we connected beyond living next door and having a mutual love for one another?  Are we connected in ways that sometimes wake us up or we can sometimes feel, but never see or comprehend?

During that couple of hours of way-too-early, I was searching for God’s presence.  I needed to know He was aware and at work amidst the upside-downness of a child dying.  I needed to know that I wasn’t showing up without Him.

He is used to hearing from me on my way to situations that are too hard for me.  “If You aren’t coming, I ain’t going!”  He hasn’t let me down, yet.

And this is what He gave me that morning when I was looking for Him...

“Who has ever said that the presence of God - in his actions and his words - has to be felt?  Sometimes God grants that sensation.  At other times, he doesn’t.”

This, from Blessed Conchita.   A wife, mother, and laywoman who just happened to be beatified when we were in Mexico this past May.  We sat in folding chairs outside the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in the blazing sun, and we watched the man who was healed through her intercession, walk into the Mass of her Beatification.

Attending a Beatification Mass because we were “in the area”, two people not sleeping at the same time, a timely quote from the beatified, the death of a child, a child’s dream and conviction to act, and a bowl of fruit, hand-delivered.

Maybe they are only connected because I put them together in the same sentence.  But, maybe not.  

I don’t know what to make of it, but I’m okay with that.  I am enjoying the possibilities. 

“For they reasoned unsoundly, saying to themselves, 

‘Short and sorrowful is our life, and there is no remedy when a man comes to his end...

Because we were born by mere chance, and hereafter we shall be as though we had never been; because the breath in our nostrils is smoke, and reason is a spark kindled by the beating of our hearts...

The Wisdom of Solomon 2:1-2

Untouchable Superpowers

My little neighbor came over yesterday to pay me a visit.  We pulled up a stool so she could help me peel potatoes, but that was pretty hard and boring.  So, she waited as patiently as she could until we could go outside and jump on the trampoline.  In the meantime, she played the piano, and fed the dog, the fish, and the cat.

She jumped to her heart's content and I mostly chased her per the "You can't catch me!" invitation she offered.  I learned she was going to be Wonder Woman for Halloween.  At one point, I picked up a handful of dead leaves and threw them in the air.  When they landed on her, I told her they would take her super powers away.

As she held one, she looked me in the eye and said, "These kind of leaves can't take my superpowers away.  My superpowers are in my heart, and only green leaves can take my superpowers away!"  Then, she threw the leaf with a look of royal dismissal and promptly took my superpowers away with the flick of a magic strand of trampoline skirt.  Not only that, but she sent my superpowers to land in the branches of a neighboring tree.

Naturally, the next thing she did was give herself flying powers, and left me cross-legged on the trampoline.  Proud, powerless, and highly-entertained.

Her grammy came back for her and my soup needed tending, so we called it a day.  And I've been thinking about my little-superhero-neighbor ever since.  Mostly, I'm amazed at how wise she is to know that her superpowers are in her heart, and that whatever you happen to be holding or might say cannot take them away.

Interesting how little bodies can hold such big truths!  Makes me wonder how different things might be if the truth only grew with us, instead of shrink or disappear altogether, as it seems to do.

Thanks for the reminder, little one.  You should come over more often.

Maybe I Should Have Turned Around Sooner

I walk to reset.  Physically, spiritually, and emotionally.  Preferably where no concrete nor buildings can be seen, but where at least a little bit of water can.  Where dogs can run free and there are more dragonflies than people. 

I have my favorite places, but they're a little too far when I only have an afternoon, so I tried somewhere new today.  A little closer to home. 

Just a couple of miles in, the levy I wasn't supposed to be on came to an end.  It was on one end of a lake, so I thought I'd just keep going and make a circle, eventually.  I looked for the trails indicated on my map, but the only ones I found were being used exclusively by spiders. 

But, I ran into a fence, so I followed that.  Until it came to another fence.  And the only way to keep going was to get really skinny and squeeze through a poorly aligned gate.  So, I did that, and my dog did the same. 

The grass was tall and there was no trail to speak of, so I consulted Google maps and saw a road within walking distance, so I just kept going.

But, what Google maps didn't show, was another fence that met another fence between me and the road, and no way out except the way I came. 

Ugggghh.  My dog and I were four plus miles into this thing, shade wasn't nearly as plentiful as the sun, and the thought of trudging back the way we came was more than I had time, energy, or water for. 

So, I did something I've never done before.  I dropped a pin and called for help.  My husband does Search and Rescue for a living, so I thought I'd give him a chance to rescue his wife.  And he did.

I hung my Camelback on the fence as a signpost and waited in the shade with my dog and the fire ants. 

As we waited, I relished the relief I was feeling and remembered something I read once about being rescued...  

"Stranded and starving, somebody has to get packed up and sent off into the unknown for food, taking what water is left, hacking a way through the undergrowth, hoping somehow to forge a path to something somewhere.  But then the noise of a helicopter, and rescue approaching.  That changes everything.  The one thing needed now is some space, so that what is coming can come...God is an approaching God, and our main job will not be to construct but to receive; the key word will be not so much 'achievement' as 'space'.  Making space for God in order to receive."

Nothing more to do, but wait, and receive (and answer a few questions).   

 

"Now, tell me again why you couldn't just go back the way you came?"

...

"You'd understand if you saw the way we came."  

This all reminds me of one my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes.  "If two men are traveling in the wrong direction, the man who turns around the soonest is the most progressive man."

I'm sure the other guy, had there been one, would have been the most progressive man today. 

But, he would have deprived himself of the opportunity to receive and his spouse of an opportunity to be a knight in shining armor.  He wouldn't have had an opportunity to remember that God is an approaching God, and his sock line probably would have been embarassingly unnoticeable.  I mean, you can't get those just anywhere.

Becoming Secondary

Sometimes, there is a downside to working in hospice and it is different than what you might think.  It's not too much death or dying, but a hyper-awareness of time in my normal every-day living.

Nothing brings this home more than when I'm trying to track down my percussionist in the orbit of high school marching band when I can't get him on the phone.

Does that seem like a weird set of circumstances to bring the old sand-filled hourglass center stage?

I'm hoping I can explain, and figure it out for myself at the same time...

I get to meet people in the evening of life on a routine basis.  Very often, they've become secondary to the people in their lives for whom they were primary for a good long while.  Spouses and kids, mostly.  They were wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and their best years were the same years I'm living now.  But, their people slowly moved on.  They were moved from the center of their lives to the periphery, and became someone to check in on, rather than someone to be included and enjoyed.

My eyes are wide open to this shift.  I'm becoming aware of the people in my life who may feel like they've been dropped in a secondary slot, permanently.  I am still primary for my children because I can drive and grocery shop and facilitate everything that is important to them.  But, I am inching my way to the periphery and every time I'm holding my phone and there is no answer on the other end, I know.

An unscheduled weekend rolls in and feels like a blessing and a curse because time together is so important.  But, finding more than two people who want to do the same thing is a chore and getting all five to agree is nearly impossible.

So, we compromise. 

At the river, a couple of us fished down the bank a little ways, I sat on an uncomfortable rock until my butt hurt and then filled a trash bag with other people's trash, while someone else threw rocks at spiders the size of grapefruits, hoping to pass a few minutes while noting, "this is the-most-redneck-vacation."  It seemed like the best bonding moment was our unanimous relief to be back home, savoring the memory that we created.  Mainly, that we didn't want to go back there any time soon.  No discussion needed.
 
Sunday kept us altogether for breakfast and Mass, but separate for the rest due to attractions that couldn't be resisted and commitments that needed to be kept.  But, fortunately for me, my plans included sitting poolside and holding a baby for a couple of hours which seemed to slow time a bit.  Gratefully.

Unless I am hitting Sonic at Happy Hour, there are few things my boys are interested in joining me for, and doing things as a family is, well, usually a compromise for most of us.  So, I sit on the futon as long as anyone will sit by me, deliver pigs in a blanket to a fort in the woods, change my schedule to steal a lunch date at Subway, and go to the skate park when it's almost dark because "they have lights, you know".

I know I am becoming secondary.  Just in little moments for now, but they are coming more frequently and I know they will keep coming, as they should.  Occasionally, someone will notice a little tear and recognize that I'm not okay and while I'm trying to find the words to explain, they decide they didn't really want an explanation, anyway.  And I'm relieved, because I couldn't really explain it, anyway.

Mr. Al

A friend was laid to rest yesterday.  I learned that he died through a Facebook post by someone I didn't know, shared by someone I did know.  And I wept.  The flood of emotion surprised me, as we never talked on the phone, visited each other's homes, or saw each other very often.

Twelve years ago, we worked in the same place.  He swept and carried donated goods to the back.  I coordinated payment of overdue bills and wrote food and clothing vouchers.  We'd share a meal on the days I brought enough for two, and he would bless it.  Thanking God for it and asking for protection against sickness from it.  

I don't know if he was paid for his work, or if he was just happy to be of service.  But, there was a misunderstanding along the way, and he stopped coming.  From then on, our meetings were a little more happenstance and much less frequent, but always a delight.  He loved my children and I loved him.

More than a decade has passed since our friendship began.  I never understood how he lived and maybe it was that that kept me from realizing that, one day, he would die?

This makes me feel pretty stupid because I work in hospice and yet, Al's death caught me off-guard and knocked me for a loop.  

 I've heard that all grief is selfish and this sentiment has never been more true.

Selfishly, I wish I would have seen him more recently.  I wish I could have been there with him at the end, or at least in the days preceding.  I wish I could have offered him something, or let him know about the place he held in my heart.  But, my loss is my own.  

He was the epitome of one who died as they lived.  He did it his way.  Alone, outside, under a tree.  By all appearances, he just went to sleep.  And I can't feel sorry for that.  That is a good way to go, if that is the way it best suited you to live the last 30 years of your life.  

I will feel blessed if I am able to walk to the place where I lay down for the last time and someone finds me the next day.  It's the dying over months and years that I want to avoid.  But, I wonder.  Did he know he was so near death?  What was he thinking as he prepared to lay down on the hard ground for the last time?  

Certainly, he did not know that the local media would be covering his funeral with full military honors, or informing all about his stint as an IRS attorney, after serving in Vietnam with the Air Force.

What would he say about that?

I can't help but think he wouldn't have a lot to say.  He'd simply be watching quietly from a distance, on a bench tucked away in the shade.

"...part of the secret of heaven:  that each affects the other and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one."  

Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Forgotten Good

I've been thinking about forgotten good for awhile now.  A couple of months, I guess.  This little envelope secretly taped to the inside of my bathroom cabinet is what started it all.

"Do something good with this."  To Mom.  This was one of four such envelopes containing some money of his own, placed in hidden places by my 10-year-old.  Each one was addressed to a different member of the family, including the brother he fights with the most, "even though he didn't deserve it".

My envelope held $2.00 in quarters.  This from a boy who will do anything for $2.00.  I actually just opened it this morning to examine the contents, for the sake of this post.  It has been too precious to disturb til now.

When I asked my son what prompted this unexpected and generous action, he told me that it was an idea from a book.

A book he received two years ago for his First Communion that only this summer's boredom inspired him to open.  A book I'm positive has long been forgotten by those who gave it, one of whom is no longer here to give.

Forgotten good.  

But, not on June 13th.

Fourth of July rolled around and my sister's mother-in-law pulled me aside.  (We normally laugh about her stint working at a library where she never actually worked, except in my mind, in which case she worked there for years, and which I repeatedly asked her about when I saw her!)  

Only this time, she let me know in all seriousness how appreciative she was of a note I wrote her years ago on November 27, 2012.  A note which holds an esteemed place in her Bible with few other things so precious.  Whaaaa?

Of course, I didn't remember the note, much less the contents.  She sent me a picture to jog my memory and I was very glad that I had, indeed, written such a note.  I was also pretty sure I was smarter when I wrote it than I am now.  

Forgotten good.

During my time at home, I visited the Chamber of Commerce of my hometown, asking after a poster advertising their famous fireworks.  The overworked lady said they were all posted, with none to give now, but took my name and address down on a post-it note with a promise to send one after the Fourth, when things settled down.

I'd forgotten my request by the day's end until just a few days ago when I received it in the mail.  And now, I will remember her kindness always as it hangs on my wall, when she will have long forgotten it.  

Forgotten good.

A couple of days ago, at the bedside of a woman leaving this life, her friends and family shared stories of what they loved about her, including her love of shopping. 

Among her purchases was a cross which currently hangs in her friend's home.  It was surreptitiously bought on a trip they took together. The friend fell in love with it, but left it unpurchased.  When they arrived back home, the woman pulled it out of her suitcase and gave it to her.  She was dumbfounded and overjoyed, and cherishes it still.  Maybe now more than ever. 

The story went uncorroborated by the giver, who could no longer say.  But if I had to guess, probably forgotten.  

When our earthly life comes to a close and a future is no longer available, the past becomes a treasury to be exhausted.  And I can't help but wonder if one of the many joys of heaven is a great remembering of the forgotten good.