Written by Georgia and read at Mama's Remembrance
Someone we love is gone, Some of us have lost a trusted friend, a partner in worship, a listening ear, a big sister, a Gramma Sanna, a Manaw. My father won't grow old with his best friend-the love of his life-at his side. My sisters have lost their confidante, and all of us children have lost a rock solid, faithful, prayerful mother, who will never again come for a visit, never again linger in quiet, thoughtful conversation, and never again leave our kitchens clean and laundry folded.
I did some time travel this week-I needed to-and what I saw, most of all, was a remarkable mother, a very good gift to her children, someone whose life mirrored her convictions.
-Through the eyes of a child I can see her pausing from housework to embrace Dad, as he arrives home from the office. If we kids rarely commented on this daily ritual, it was surely because we naively assumed that every married couple was just a much in love as our parents were.
-And there she is working into the evening in the kitchen or at the ironing board or the sewing machine or vacuuming the hallway.
-When Mom was awake, she was up to something. Never frenetic but always engaged, without complaint, without resentment, without hesitation.
-I can still hear Mom's quiet questions. Mom knew just how to pose questions that conveyed, mysteriously, the only correct answer and why it made such good sense.
-I remember Mom's steadfast refusal to complain, to suffer publicly, to evoke pity, to attract attention. Ask her how she felt, during a migraine(!) and she would answer you honestly but quietly, and then find a way to change the subject from her to you.
-And I remember her laugh. Some odd comment or crazy story over dinner and Mom would grow strangely quiet. You wouldn't know she was laughing unless you looked over. There she sat; quietly convulsing, red face and tears spilling down her cheeks. Even when out of control, she didn't draw attention to herself.
Only as I came of age did I begin to realize that Mom ran an entire cottage industry on the side, ministering to people whose lives know the pain of rejections, the ache of disappointment. In Mom, these people found a safe place, a strong shoulder, a rare blend of strength and tenderness. She never took a course in caring, yet she lived a life of servitude. She never set up a website, never charged a fee or solicited donations, never flashed a business card and never went on tour.
What she did instead was open her life, along with Dad, to the sad, and the harried, the naive and the cynical, the rough and the refined, those people of course being us, her children. And she did it out of a deep, gentle love for us.
One of the last evenings at home I was privileged enough to give her a pedicure, something I don't think I'd ever done before. It took the tolling of the bell and the writing on the wall before I seized the honor of honoring the feet of a woman who spread her love to us all. I suppose we could have talked more, or more deeply, or prayed together. But staring death in the face is hard and sometimes you have to look away.
Today we look away no longer. Friday, the 21st I had the incredible privilege of watching my Mom slip from this life into the next. It would be hard for me to say which experience was more profound and compelling for me: watching my Mother slip into God's arms or watching my Father watch my Mother. Through my tears I saw a man remain resolutely faithful, impossible tender, deeply caring and intensely in love, until the very end.
Dad: you kept your vows, you both did, until death did you part. I learned so much about love these last few months, but in those few short hours-much about the deep, deep love between Mom and Dad, and about what it looks like to love when there is nothing you can do to stop the hurt.
What happened last week? Into what mysterious fellowship has Mom been ushered? Does she now sleep until a Voice calls her forth, like Lazarus, on the Last Day? Or is she now fully, consciously present before God? I don't know. But this I will profess: when death, "the last enemy" (1Cor 15:26), is abolished and when God's every promise is fulfilled, the reunion will be sweet and there will be joy.
We love you Mama, Roxanna, Sissy, Manaw, Gramma Sanna and any other wonderful name you were known by.
