My mother died on August
16, 2014. I remember driving with my
cousin back towards her house on Thursday, August 12, 2014. She told me that even though it makes zero
sense right now, one day I will be able to look back on all this and realize
that God had a plan in all this. I’m
still waiting for this realization. My
mother herself said that maybe it was better this way. I’m still protesting this view point as I
have protested nearly all the things she’s ever said to me. This is after all the same woman who told me
that if I swallowed a seed a tree would grow out of my head. Or maybe that was my own overactive
imagination. I just remember being terrified
by the image of an apple tree growing out of my head after I accidentally
swallowed a seed. To this day, I’m not a
big fan of apples.
Lately I’ve felt the
stirring of those old emotions. I’ve
come across an old Patty Loveless song on Amazon Prime music called “How Can IHelp You to Say Goodbye.” That didn’t
help because every time I listen to the song, I remember the last time I held
my mother’s hand, the way it felt in mine.
It was tiny and fragile. My hands
felt like meat mallets in comparison.
She was weak and a little senseless from the morphine. She didn’t want it. But I never learned how to back down from a
fight and even then, I fought with her.
She needed it. My sister-in-law
was waiting to give it to her. She’s a
nurse, so she was better able to administer the medication anyway.
I remember my mother’s
weak slurred voice. She was
irritated. She complained that I was
being irritating. I fired back that I
was going to continue to be irritating until she let my sister-in-law give her
the medicine. What I never said that I
would give anything for her not to have to take that morphine. I would have loved to have begged her to
stay. I would have bargained with God if
I could. Losing someone suddenly is hard
but watching someone die is worse.
I think I stayed long
after she left. I waited until my dad
had to give her the next dose. I
remember watching the clock and her, worrying if she was comfortable as she
rested on the hospital bed in the middle of her living room. I remember counting the minutes until her
next dose. I saw when her sleep got
worse. I remember helping my dad as we
changed her clothes. In that moment, I
remember thinking that she would hate this.
When she finally settled down to sleep, I picked up her hand and held
it. It was limp in mine.
I told her leave. Just go.
Stop fighting and go. I
remembered to tell her I loved her. I
think maybe she heard me because I felt her squeeze my hand. I would hate to think it was my over active
imagination. I left her house after
midnight but walked back through her front doors again around six in the
morning. I don’t know how my dad stood
it when he found her dead body just lying there. I couldn’t look at it. It had no connection to my mother.
I still don’t
understand this plan of yours God. It
still doesn’t make sense to me. I can’t
stop crying. The pain inside my chest is
still there, like a tumor in my heart that’s resisting treatment. I feel like I’m barely alive, just moving,
going through the motions. Everyone
seems to be moving forward with their lives.
Why can’t I? Why am I stuck in
this place? Why can’t I move? God, why doesn’t your plan make any sense to
me?
