Let the storm rage on….

Someone taught me a very important lesson about the ministry of presence.  I remember when my best friend's father died a few years back from lung cancer she told me about the funeral and invited me to come.  I didn't want to go as I don't like funerals.  But then who really likes them except maybe a necrophiliac.   My other half told me I needed to go.  He said it wasn't about me but that as her friend I need to be there.  I reluctantly went and I went very late.

It was a huge Catholic Church and frankly I was quite intimidated by its sheer size.  I still remember the keening wail of her mother's cry of anguish.   She was speaking creole so I didn't understand a word but a wail of pain in any language is easily recognizable. When the service ended my friend came out and when she saw me all she said to me was "Sharon, my dad is gone."  We have laughed together, gotten drunk together, philosophized and caused mischief together but that was the first time ever we cried together only the way 2 people who are intimately connected can cry.  As my arms wrapped around her, I felt her pain enter into me and her grief became mine.  For a brief moment we weren't alone.  I never did say a word just cried my heart out with her.  And thus, I learned about the ministry of presence.

I am torn because I feel I should tell my closest friends.  I don't know how because nothing I say can prevent them from showering me with their sincerest sympathies.  English was never my first language though to listen to me you'd never know.  But I've decided that the words "condolences" & "sympathies" are the cheapest words in the English language.  Somehow saying them absolves us from the uncomfortable responsibility of forging human connection with someone who's alone in their pain.  

I've been sent a few "I'm praying for you", "you're not alone", "call me if you need anything", & such phrases.  It's tough to find a politely correct response to this.  I'm curious how exactly are you praying for me?  Why are you if you don't know me?  Maybe it's a bit harsh but only two people actually made me feel less alone, one simply let me talk and just listened.  She asked if I was having a moment when I broke down and cried earlier and didn't feel the need to express more.  Another simply came, found me, and hugged me before going back about her business. 

So before you think this is a veiled attempt to gain your sympathies or my way of venting, let me assure you, that is far from my aim.  My point is simply this, stop handing out platitudes of sympathy as if they were Halloween candy.  Choose instead to minister through your presence.  No one really needs as many friends as Facebook dictates you have.  All anyone really wants is an Aaron to their Moses.  

Right to the heart of the matter…

While working out this morning before work, I watched an episode of Charmed where the sisters go back in time and Phoebe actually meets her mom.  She was too young when her mother died so she’s the only sister who did not have any memory of their mother.  Later on Facebook, I read something ABC news anchor Bill Ritter posted about his mom.  She died when she was 61 and he thought about all the things she missed.  She was a smoker and I gathered that’s what killed her.  Mine never smoked, ate well, so what the hell!!

Bursts of rage simply leave me depleted these days.  Guess I’m finally getting a hang on that temper of mine my mom always wanted me to learn to control.  I have your temper mom, so I guess you know how angry I can get sometimes.  

Then there are moments where I feel extremely sad.  I can’t think beyond the fact that one day soon you’re going to leave me.  The only thing that would be worse is if one of my sons were leaving me instead.  In those moments, I feel the inevitable sense of loss overwhelming me and I am left helpless in the face of the tsunami that is my grief.  It crashes over me and my footing wavers and for a moment I think I might just fall.  I look for arms to hold me but there are none.  This is my journey and one I must make alone.  So how am I supposed to learn to do this, live without you and at the same time, be you?  

While getting dressed in the gym I nearly fell apart as I realized the comfortable worn blouse I held in my hand was one you had given me when I was pregnant with my first son.  He and his brother have long since pulled the beading out of place and soon it will need to be replaced.  Nothing lasts forever.  Wish my clothes would though.  Who’ll buy me clothes when you’re gone?   Who’ll buy my sons clothes when you’re gone?  I’m actually glad you tend to buy things for them that are one size too big.  I can give them the things that you bought even after you’re gone.  

I had this brilliant idea that while you’re still here I can take tons of pictures and videos so the boys would have something to remember you by.  Any grandchildren you may never see, well at least they’ll get to see you and hear your voice.  I hope I can get you to agree to this since you turned me down flat last week.  You were recovering so I understand your objections.  I imagined learning from you all those traditional Bengali dishes you know how to make and making YouTube videos of them to watch for as long as the company is around and my account exists.  The problem with a highly overactive imagination is that you can imagine yourself into places you’d rather not go, at least not yet.  

I think right now, I’d like to simply rest my head and sleep.  Yes, I think maybe that’s what I need, sweet oblivion where I won’t think about you dying and your inevitable demise won’t play like a broken record in my head.  Everyone’s life is still spinning.  Mine is too, but I seem to be stuck in a loop.  I’m not handling it well.  The daughter in me is grieving and she’s scared of what her world will be like when you’re gone.  But the woman of faith you raised is holding on to the hand that you’re holding even now.  

There’s comfort there, in our father’s arm.  He’s giving you strength and he’s holding me up.  Even through my tears, I’m saying Thank you God because you could have left me already.  Instead, he’s giving me beauty for my ashes.  And I know I’ll cry enough tears to fill the entire Indian Ocean.  I will hurt like I am now and maybe even more.  I may never get over the loss of you.  But how can I miss even a moment I’m getting with you?  You changed my life from the moment you first laid eyes on me, held me in your arms, and loved me with a love so pure and unconditional that it withstood everything I have thrown at it over the years.  And boy have I thrown more than a few sucker punches at it.  

But I get it now.  The love of a mother for her child transcends every transgression.  Kind of like the love of God.  She would lay down her life for children.  Kind of like Christ did for his creation.  And just as he was rejected, how often have we rejected the love of our Mothers?  Don’t squander the moments you’ve got with her.  Tell her you love her.  Better yet, show her

The prognosis is....envelope please....you have cancer and we can't do jack!

According to Douglas Adams, writing should be easy, I should keep staring at this blank screen until my forehead bleeds.  Right now, my heart is bleeding.  Not literally, just metaphorically.  Literally would be far too messy and I would be unable to string together any coherent thought due to the blood loss, I think.  Or at least, I might be dizzy and faint.  That will definitely guarantee a derailment of my train of thought.  I’m trying in vain to search for words that would somehow help me explain my current status, to myself at least.  I’m a writer.  Bleeding words on a page should be easy.  

The short end of the story is my mother has cancer.  She had surgery to remove the tumor in her colon three years ago.  I remember having lunch with my parents, on my anniversary, with my oldest son when my dad informed me that my mother was ill and he was going to take her to the emergency room as the doctor suggested.  My son was coming up on his 2^nd birthday when she started to undergo the first of two surgeries that would eventually leave her cancer free for at least three years it turned out.

So now it’s back.  I’m tempted to curse at this point but the English lit major in me just won’t give me the satisfaction.  Besides, what would it accomplish?  Sometimes, rage and anger are just useless emotions.  I just found out today that it has spread too far for her to consider chemo.  I suppose that’s good in a way because frankly, the idea of chemo and its side effects scares the hell out of her.  Funny how we are all at peace with her decision to not do chemo.  

I made a big decision over the weekend, during my sleepover at the hospital with my mom.  It was my other half’s idea actually.  I’m taking my little family and moving back home.  I hope I am up to the task because when this season is done, my mother will be in heaven and I will no longer be her doll.  

She told me once, when she was pregnant with me, she had prayed for a doll of her very own.  You see, she was the oldest of my grandmother’s 6 children and most her life, she played the role of surrogate mother.  She said, that she had never been able to play with dolls so when I was born, she was very happy.  I was her doll.  At 36, I still am.  I recently made a comment to her that considering her current circumstances, she will soon get to see her mother.  She replied that until that time, she had her mother here.  She referred to me as her “Ma.”  

It nearly broke me.  But I can’t break in front of her.  That’s what my husband’s arms are for.  Then I pick myself up, dust off my dried flecks of blood from my heart, and pretend that I’m functioning.  Truth is, I can barely walk, barely stand up, much less handle what’s before me.  It is here that I understand her gift to me has always been the gift of faith.  It is the one thing we have always shared.

When I was young, I used to be terrified of losing my mom.  I’ve accepted that I have to let her go.  But I’m learning that even in this situation, God is still in the midst of this.  I see his hand on me and my family in ways I can’t explain.  I know I have to let her go and I will.  But until that moment when she takes her last breath and leaves me, I am looking forward to simply loving her and laughing with her.  Death is a transition from life to eternity.  When she leaves me, I will spend my whole life with an emptiness within me that will never be quite filled.  Until then, I will stand my ground and keep hoping for my miracle and savor every moment I get with her.  

I hope, if nothing else, at least you’ll allow me to share this journey with you.  I’m not sure this is a journey I can take alone.