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This article is from Today's
Native Father, issue #127, May/June, 2003. Related articles from this issue: |
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Reflections on Mother's Passing Dear Moms, As I write to you, my heart is filled with grief and joy. My mother died January 26, just eleven days before her 86th birthday. My family was at her bedside during those last hours of her life, talking, singing, crying, laughing, praying, each one doing a part in taking care of her in her own home. It was very special . Although my mother was unresponsive, we all have a sense that she must have heard us and enjoyed those last moments with us. We desired her to be released from her mortal body which had suffered for thirty-one years with Parkinson’s Disease. For the past twenty-five years, I have lived at a great distance from my parents and could not be involved with Mom’s care on a regular basis. Every visit would be difficult. I would see the changes the disease was causing. I would see what my dad was experiencing in caring for her. I cried and cried over the years as I slowly lost my mom. She loved to work, tend her garden and take care of her animals. Bit by bit it became impossible. She often fell, hard, but she maintained a sense of humour in it all. She was ever the lover of fun and laughter. She loved crafts, beauty, and music. She loved to knit, embroider and especially quilt. With great sadness, that too stopped. She loved to talk with her friends and family, but understanding her became increasingly difficult and frustrating for everyone. Although she made valiant efforts, her letter writing, which she so much enjoyed, became impossible to read. Worst of all, she couldn’t sing anymore. That was almost more then she could take. The other day I walked up the stairs, and there on the dresser were pictures of my mom. I stood there for a long time just thinking and remembering. It felt strange. There she was looking at me, and I was looking at her, but I knew I would never see her again on this earth. Again I felt my love for her swell up in my heart. I thought of the painful things she had in her life. I also thought of the example she gave me to live by. I am so grateful for what she taught me about Jesus and following Him, whatever the cost. It would have been easy for her to insist that I stay nearby and help her, but she and Dad both stood by their promise to God when I was born. They had dedicated me to Him and would not stand in the way of what God had called me to do. I remember praying at Mom’s knee when I was a child, “Now I lay me down to sleep...” She loved to use the flannel graph to teach Sunday School. I would see her reading the Bible, praying and memorizing Scripture. She taught me how to preserve my food for the winter. She was faithful to my dad and she loved her children deeply. Having lived through the Great Depression, she knew how to be thrifty with money and possessions. She sewed her clothes and always made sure her hair looked nice. She was active in school activities and rescue mission work. As a child, naturally I just knew her as “Mom.” She could do whatever needed to be done. But as I became a mom and grew in my own maturity as a woman, I became aware that there had been some painful things in her life that probably no one had ever understood. I began to see her as more than “just a mom.” I began asking her about some of those things. I’m glad I learned to know her in a deeper way. But distance and disease prevented me from hearing her heart the way I would have desired. Now she is in heaven, free of all pain. She can walk without falling, sing, eat, laugh, talk and be fully under-stood and known. How wonderful! It must be joy beyond compare. Yes, Mom, I miss you. But would I wish you back? Not for a minute! I love you and I’ll see you again one day. Ilva |
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