I Failed to Know Her

Proverbs 1:8 Pay close attention, friend, to what your father tells you; never forget what you learned at your mother's knee. Wear their counsel like flowers in your hair, like rings on your fingers.

We all grew up with this familiar children’s poem:
Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

Well, don’t believe everything you read. I was born on a hot Sunday afternoon in October, 1955. “Sunday’s Child” doesn’t apply to me at all. When we arrived home from the hospital, my grandmother stayed at the house to help my mother. I was such a good baby, grandma left after two days. My mother claims my grandmother slammed the back door on her way out and I woke up screaming and stayed that way. I remained the child who constantly baffled my mother. From infancy on I never slept more than three hours at a stretch. I was into everything. By the time I was three, mother finally quit getting up at two, three or four in the morning to check out the source of the noise. She’d either find me riding on the rocking horse or assembling something in the dark. I was never the huggy-kissy-feely daughter. The dog was more receptive to being held and cosseted than I was. We never formed that mother-daughter bond my younger sister shared with her. I didn’t require “nurturing” so I never experienced those attributes that made my mother truly special to the world.

I knew she was talented because those talents manifested themselves in me, but I took them for granted. I knew she was kind and gentle, yet I never stood still long enough to admire those qualities, much less learn from them. Harsh words were never on her tongue, even when life dealt her cruel blows. If anyone needed anything - she was there. She cut and styled the neighbors’ hair. She served her church in every capacity possible. She was always tending to someone else’s needs and always placed herself last. She was a genuine nurturer. I breezed through life right past her and was blind to all of this until I experienced motherhood on my own. Yet, I still failed to appreciate her as a mother. I neglected the opportunities to love and enjoy this woman who represented the embodiment of God’s grace. I did not see all that was good and wonderful and spiritual about her until I began to see her fade away before my very eyes.

Now it is time for me to be the nurturer. It is time for the child to become the parent. Mom’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s has brought my plans in life to a screeching halt. The disease is slowly altering the woman I wish I had taken the time to get to know better. Instead of stamping my feet and crying, “This isn’t fair.” I sat down in despair and prayed a very selfish prayer. At the end of that prayer, God placed on me a peace that passes understanding. I never fully understood that phrase until now. There really is no understanding some of the things we are given to deal with. There is only God’s peace that He, alone, can give you when you place the obstacles of life in His hands.

Our guest preacher one Sunday asked what we thought God looked like. Being me, the first image that entered my mind was a good looking, aging Charlton Heston with a salt and pepper beard and flowing hair. Then I envisioned a magnificent sunset with intense, radiant colors that wash over you and bathe you in warmth. However, as I sat and wrote this piece, I realized my true image of God was mounted on the wall above me in my office. Not a masterful painting with bold colors, but a faded print of a pair of outstretched hands. For me, God is represented by those hands stretched out as if to say, “Come. Place your burden here. I will take that burden, along with all your other burdens you may be holding onto. And see, there is still room for me to hold you.”

So I have placed myself in those hands, trying to live each day with some measure of grace, knowing that I will ungracefully fail because I am human. God knows this. It is why he gave me the ability to write poetry to better describe how I feel. It is why he gave me music to be beautiful with or to vent my frustrations on while pounding with all my might on the keyboard. It is why he gave me a sense of humor to mask the pain as I witness my mother slowly become someone I do not know, slipping through the grasp I never had on her.

Don't live with regrets. Take the time to take hold of those you love. Fight for them. If your family is falling apart, stop and ask why it happened and back up the truck and start the journey over. If your spouse does something that goes on the Thou Shalt Not list, make sure it is truly a Thou Shalt Not list item and not something that might go on the Thou Maybe Ought Not But I Can Still Love You list. Don't be afraid to step forward and address issues or tell someone you love them. I failed to do that twice in my life. Once, just prior to my father's death I had the overwhelming urge to hug him and tell him I loved him and didn't. Now my second opportunity is passing me by. I spent a lot of money buying beautiful cards for my mother that said, "I love you." but I can't recall when I ever said it out loud. It will be the first thing I do when I walk in the door this evening.