Grounded in the Truth, with You as my Anchor – standing on the firm Foundation, my hand outstretched towards her. Slowly her hand slips through mine – I can still see her – still hear her – but we only connect when the waves push her back towards me – sometimes for long periods of time, other times are shorter – sometimes just our finger tips touch, other times our whole hands, and still at other times our hearts touch. Yet slowly the waves of time and the tumult of the sea push her farther away from me. She still looks back at me and touches me, not with her hands, but with her eyes. Words are few yet precious as my ears receive them with joy. I realize that I haven’t heard the words in a very long time. I understand that our connection is waning as time continues to pass. And with that passage of time, I realize that I can barely make her out on the horizon. Yet I remain fixed and grounded to the Truth, knowing that the inevitable will happen to her, to me, to us – just when the waves are ready to overtake her, I realize that soon she will be gone from my sight. And go she does – gently with the action of the sea, she disappears completely from my sight. Yet I am still grounded in the Truth. The Foundation I am on is steady and sure. I will see her again, that is the promise that He has given those who know Him. I am anchored to Him. I will see her again.
I lost a piece of my mom every time Alzheimer’s made a noticeable change in her mental and physical condition.
The first time she forgot my birthday, where I became special to no one, I grieved.
The first time (and thankfully, the only time), she got violently mad at me for an imagined wrong I had committed, where who she had become was not the woman I knew, I grieved.
The first time she couldn’t remember who I was, where I became no woman’s daughter, I grieved.
The first time she asked me if I was her mama, where our roles permanently reversed, I grieved.
The first time I assisted her in the bathroom, where I made the emotional crossing from role of daughter to caretaker, I grieved.
I grieved for what seemed like an eternity before my mom died in 2008, as her weary body fully succumbed to the ravages of Alzheimer’s. It took me some time to realize that I had become accustomed to grieving, that it had become my constant companion. I didn’t know how not to grieve anymore. Then the Holy Spirit gave me a vision.
I grieved for what seemed like an eternity before my mom died in 2008, as her weary body fully succumbed to the ravages of Alzheimer’s. It took me some time to realize that I had become accustomed to grieving, that it had become my constant companion. I didn’t know how not to grieve anymore. Then the Holy Spirit gave me a vision.
She stands at the gate, looking forward to the beginning of her journey. She feels the warmth on her face and knows that she is about to go further than she has ever been. She turns her head back towards where she has been. She sees the wheelchair, the bed and the aged woman looking straight ahead. Her eyes reflect nothing, her lips neither smile nor frown. There is pain in every wrinkle of her face. Her legs no longer carry her and her arms barely move as though swaddled with unseen weight. Her gaze is steady, but unseeing. Her ears hear, but she doesn’t comprehend. There are those around her – some crying, some solemn, but all sadden by her departure. She thinks she should feel sad, but the only thing she feels is excitement as she anticipates what lies ahead. She looks down at her hands, young and vibrant; ready to do whatever she is called to do. She turns away, realizing that some of these she will see again, and for some, this is the last time – this is the only thing that saddens her. She turns towards the gate again – a simple garden gate. Strange, she thought that it would be grander…that is what she always heard. Beyond the gate, in the far distance, she sees light, so true and bright, for a moment she wonders why her eyes don’t hurt. Closer in, she sees people lined along the path. As she walks the path, gazing from face to face, she realizes that she knows these people. They are her brothers and a sister she hasn’t seen in a lifetime. Standing closer are friends and other relatives. All of them gathered along side the path she travels. The crowd looks away from her and towards where she is headed. Their eyes return to her. She wonders who it is that is coming. Then she sees him…the man she fell in love with 67 years ago. She remembers his eyes shining with mischief, his eyebrow up as only one so suave could look….and that smile, she will never forget that smile. It wasn’t a beautiful smile as the world judges, but it is a smile that touches her heart and in that lays the beauty. Funny though, she wonders how he got here…of all the people there, she really didn’t anticipate seeing him. Their gaze meets and she drops the thought of why and realizes that he is there and she is glad. She feels the love and acceptance that her 85 years never allowed her to feel. She is more than comfortable here. She is elated. And as nary a word is said, she continues moving down the path, her and all of these souls towards the center of the light in the distance. She knows in her heart….does she still have one…that she will be seeing Him soon. She has forgotten now what is behind her and looks forward with great anticipation of what lays ahead…down this road. There is joy in her heart and praise in her mouth. She cannot contain all that she feels, but knows that this is just the beginning of forever.
The thought of rejoicing at the death of a love one was reprehensible, but isn’t that what being here and being Christian is all about? God reminded me that I had lost my ailing earthly mother, but she had gained Him, as will I one day. “To live is Christ, to die is gain.” So, I made a decision to consciously lay down grief and pick up joy every time I found my old companion hanging around. I would like to say it was instantaneous, but it is a process. Over and over again, sometimes moment by moment, I laid down grief, until grief ceased to be my constant companion. I still feel it once in a while as it tries to take dominion over my thoughts. I find that the best way to counter that sadness is to do something nice for someone else. It takes my mind off of my situation and causes me to focus on someone else who needs assistance.
Grief can take up residence over the smallest thing – the loss of an earthly possession, a job – to what seems insurmountable – the loss of a friend, a spouse, a child, a parent. Are you grieving a loss in your life? Will you make a conscious decision to lay down grief and fight the good fight until grief is no longer your constant friend? I challenge you to find someone who needs a bit of help – a ride to the doctor, a meal, a visit to reminisce of times long past, eyes and voice to read – and leave your grief to take up the joy of helping someone else in need.