Anniversary

by Lisa on May 6, 2013

A new day is dawning. Sunlight is birthing from the eastern skies. I can see it peeking through the curtains in my room. I know. I know what that means. Time to get up. Time to get ready. Time to head to the flower shop for a day of helping out with Mother’s Day prep.

It is also a time to remember. A time to mourn. A time of anniversary.

Three years ago today my mother woke up to the same morning light. The same sun rising in the east. The same peeking through. Only it was different. Different in the fact that that day, May 6th 2010, would be her last day here on earth.

This is a hard day for me. All I can see in my mind’s eye are those last moments. Those last snippets of time slipping away. Of life ebbing from her body—away from us to her new home. I try to recall the laughter, the moments of fun and joy, the times of tenderness and love, the family vacations, the everyday life, the snuggling with grandkids, the cooking in the kitchen. I try to remember her smell, her touch, her voice, but all I can seem to do right now is remember that last day. Those last moments.

I wrote the following words three years ago, a day and a night after she passed. It is what was happening in my mind then and what will be be happening my mind off and on all day.

1:43 am
My eyes pop open. What time is it? 1:43. Last night about this time I, too, woke up only to hear my Mom’s distressed breathing.

1:45 am
Close my eyes. Go back to sleep.

1:48 am
Check the clock again. Last night at this time I was running to find a nurse to help us.

1:50 am
Close my eyes. Go Back to sleep.

1:54 am
Now what time is it? Last night at this time I was leaning over my Mom’s bed praying for her pain to be removed and peace.

1:55 am
Close my eyes. Go back to sleep.

2:00 am
Why is this so hard? Last night at this time I was frantically looking for Pastor Cross’ phone number so I could call him.

2:00 am
Close my eyes. Go back to sleep.

2:03 am
Why can’t I just go back to sleep? Last night at this time I was watching the nurses give my Mom morphine to help relieve her discomfort. I was watching my Dad lean over Mom smothering her with kisses her telling her how much he loved her.

2:03 am
Make these images go away!! Close my eyes. Go back to sleep.

2:05 am
Oh stop!! Last night at this time we were trying to adjust Mom to a more comfortable position in her bed all the while reassuring she was not alone and that we love her very much.

2:05 am
Please, Lord, take this agony away. I just want sleep.

2:07 am
Help!! She’s slipping. Last night at this time Mom was taking her final breaths. Why? Why does she have to go? I’m not ready.

2:08 am
The pain is immense.

2:10 am
It is finished. Last night at this time I was staring in disbelief at the empy shell of my mother. She is gone and there is nothing I can do about it.

2:11 am
I can not sleep. I get up. Searching for relief and comfort.

2:15 am
Go to the back bedroom. Find Mom’s old Bible. I just want to see her handwriting. Just want to read her words penned in the margins. I just want a piece of her back.

2:16 am
Open the Bible where the silk ribbon sits. First words I read…”But there will be no more gloom for her who was in anguish” (Isaiah 9:1a)

2:18 am
Flip through the pages searching for Mom’s writing.

2:19 am
I find a part she has underlined. It says: “For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, and remain until the coming of the Lord, shall not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet of God: and the dead in Christ shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and thus we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfor one another with these words.” (1 Thessalonians 4:14-18)

2:25 am
Weep. Thank you Lord for my Mom. And, thank You too for Your precious words of comfort.

2:38 am
Now I can go back to sleep.

Thank you for remembering with me. Sharing. Sharing this anniversary of the last day. Sharing this day of passing. Sharing a time of mourning.

But, more importantly, sharing another anniversary of Cathy Landles’ rebirth, of crossover from death to life, of joy in life eternal with Him. Amen.

 

 

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Five Minute Friday: Focus

by Lisa on September 14, 2012

She holds out her hands, “Dad, can you fix this?” Two tubes of brass come tumbling out. The boy comes striding into the room with his binoculars around his neck. They’re on their way outside to play spy games.

I watch as David monkeys with the two broken tubes trying to refit them together. He miraculously manages to slip the smaller barrel past the packed cotton and back into the bigger barrel. He hands them back to her, “Be careful you don’t pull it too far out or it’s going to come apart again.” She takes the spyglass and lifts it to her eye, “I can’t see anything,” she says. “Here let me show you,” he replies. She hands him back the shiny brass monocular. He raises it to his eye and shows her how to adjust and focus the lens. Now it’s her turn. She puts it back to her eye, adjusts the depth of the barrel, and the twists it to and fro. “Oh wow! I can see!” she exclaims. Smiling she calls out, “Thanks dad!” and heads out the door.

My vision has been a bit off—for years, I think. Life aspirations, purpose, talents and gifts, what-can-I do/contribute-syndrome seems to have been broken. A bit elusive. A bit blurry. A bit out of focus. Constantly trying to just forge ahead, or to make changes, or implement new techniques just isn’t working. My focus is still out of whack.

My husband’s solution for this is, “Let’s pray about it.” My answer to that is often (almost all the time, if I’m truthful) is, “Pray, shmae! Let’s do something. I want action.”

But God, having a sense of humor, has other things in mind. He has been hammering me lately. Everywhere I turn. Thumping. A book found thrifting. Pounding. A sermon on Sunday. A friend speaking into my life. Hammering. He’s relentless.

Finally, I relent.

“Okay God. I hear you. Stop thumping. Stop pounding. Stop hammering. It hurts. Here I am. What do you want?”

“Focus,” he says. “I will show you. Just like that little girl of yours—bring me your brokeness. Ask me for help. I will correct your vision. I will fix your spyglass. I will teach you how to use it correctly so you can see clearly.”

I start by handing Him the shiny brass barrels. He’s expertly put them back together for me, and I’ve started to listen to His instructions. I’m slowly adjusting the barrels. A vision is beginning to appear. It’s still blurry, but I’m working. Praying, listening, and adjusting. And, trusting for clear focus.

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Disclaimer:

This post took me a little more than five minutes to write, but I did not edit.

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Five Minute Friday from Lisa-Jo Baker—tales from a Gypsy Mama

 1. Write for 5 minutes flat – don’t edit; don’t second-guess.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. Must: leave a comment for the person who linked up before you – encouraging them in their writing!

4. See here for additional details.

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Five Minute Friday: Stretch

August 17, 2012

Index finger and thumb meet index finger and thumb. The ooey, gooey sticky white mass is being pulled and stretched—back and forth. As it transfers from one set of fingers to the other set, the soft, gummy mess begins to take new shape. No longer discernible in its original solid form, the sweet confection, which [...]

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Five Minute Friday: Story

July 6, 2012

We create stories and stories create us. It is a rondo. —Chinua Achebe ***************************** I have spent the afternoon sitting in the glorious July sunshine recounting her story—the days of my mother’s illness, and her final hours. All around me life springs forth, children laugh as they romp carefree in the backyard, but yet I [...]

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Doh!

June 21, 2012

Ever have one of those Homer Simpson moments? Well I did tonight. Doh! It’s been a crazy hectic week. Three full days—Monday, Tuesday, & Wednesday, of the CC Practicum. Not a whole lot of sleep Sunday night as I was finishing my prep for the Practicum Playcamp. And, then today, Thursday, ten kids at my [...]

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Marianne

June 18, 2012

There’s a soft knock at the door. Mia starts barking. She leaps over the couch, in a single bound, and begins scratching at the door. I’m standing at the stove as I hear David say, “Oh…it’s that girl from Germany. I told her you’d be back later. Go answer the door.” “What girl?” I reply. [...]

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Broody Hen

June 5, 2012

The broody hen just wants to be left alone and if she is bothered too much she will stop brooding. Keep her occupied and away from the nest she has chosen. Remove any and all eggs, move her as often as possible and bother her, making her uncomfortable. I am a broody hen. Sitting on [...]

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In Loving Memory of Cathy Landles

May 7, 2012

Here’s what I envisioned some months before my Mom’s passing. Today we celebrate the two year anniversary of her going home. Something stirred next to her. It sounded like the beating of wings. She opened her eyes. Piercing light seeped into the room. It seemed as if the sun itself had entered the four walls. [...]

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Amsterdam Fly By

May 6, 2012

The grinding of the gears could be heard above the roar of the jet engines as the wheels unfolded from the belly of the plane. “We will be landing momentarily in Amsterdam. Local time is 8:32 am. Please make sure your tray….” I turned a deaf ear to the stewardess’s words and looked out the [...]

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The First Leg

May 5, 2012

We tucked our bags in the overhead compartment and took our seats. Row 15, seat J. That was my seat. An aisle seat. I watched as people continued boarding. Old and young shuffled down the two aisles—one aisle on either side of the four middle seats in the center of the plane. Each person juggling as [...]

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