mom
I used to marvel at how my mother would clean the house. Thursdays. Everything. I thought she loved cleaning and I have always known that I failed to acquire that gene. However, she finally shared with me that she never liked cleaning. She just liked clean. She liked the outcome.
Then the light bulb went on. All the baking, knitting, care giving for the elderly, volunteer work for Young Offenders, help for her Uncle Charlie was never about enjoyment. It was about the result. Her painting. She gave her paintings away - so much so that I had to fight to get one of her paintings. She wanted to do for others because she wanted to help others. Simply. Without analyzing what she was doing. She just gave.
Of course that led to some problems since she gave financially as well. The man who helped fix her front door was such a nice man. She sold her home to him quite cheaply. The home she and my father built from scratch. I still have the records of each nail they paid for in a book in my home which I would have brought but I couldn't find it today since I don't clean. She gave furnishings to her hairdresser in Hamilton since she didn't have much she said. The list of giving is long. Many here have shared a giving story with me. A girl she took care of in Stone Lodge liked to paint so her easel and paints had to be delivered to her in Guelph. Apparently, Neil and Sandra received her dishes - a story they shared on Tuesday. She would leave town to care for the children of others (Murray and Peggy, Paul and Yolande, Ron and Debbie, to name a few). She would also leave me with small twins and take her chocolate cookies with her. So she left us owning nothing, owing nothing. Zero footprint. But not.
Some people wanted to know more about how she grew up. She was one of four daughters when their father wanted a son which he had with someone else. So what is important is who she grew into.
Ironically, It was In her most delusional state before the antibiotics kicked in a few weeks ago that I was able to come to terms with who my mom really was. She wouldn't let me leave her side which I didn't understand since she always said, "go home, leave me alone, don't waste your time with me". It was the wee hours in emergency. I won't tell you the whole story since it gets warm in here and the sandwiches won't keep, but there are three key elements that taught me that even in our craziest moments maybe we are our true selves. Essentially, she thought there was a fire and the world was being evacuated somehow. Three lessons came from this concoction.
The first lesson came when she repeated, "Bill will save us. We can always count on him." I didn't want to tell her that Bill could not have cared less and was home asleep in bed where I wanted to be! However, this showed me her implicit trust in Bill and more, it reminded me of the wonderful man I married who is always a rock, always reliable (except with time management) and he always took care of his "Mrs. M" financially, emotionally -- even when she stayed for extended periods of time to help with his boys which meant another wallpapering project.
Second in this delusion she was angry because a lady in a white coat was cleaning the floors. "Why is she made to do that? She shouldn't have to clean up alone. People should help her." This is the place where excellent eyesight didn't help her confusion. She didn't even have her glasses on. This reminded me how often she searched out the underdog. She would bring home young offenders to stay at our home when they had no place to go but had a court date the next morning where she volunteered as someone to take down the notes in shorthand of the cases for Young Offenders. My brother once said women should be stay at home mothers like ours - I responded - when was she ever at home?! She always worked but it was voluntary. Love. Given away freely.
The third lesson for me came about three in the morning, still no antibiotics and she continued to be frustrated so asked me to lower the bar on the bed. I said I couldn't. She was angry at me since she said she wanted to get out to walk around and at least she could help as many people as possible who needed it. Then she said, well just let me hang my legs over the side of the bed. Again, she wanted to step up and not be a patient but be a helper. Even if it meant trying to be cunning. In that, she wasn't very patient. Not patient with noisy neighbours at the trailer. Not patient with me who in her mind never got enough done. Not patient with people who didn't think the way she did. In fact, those she got out of bed metaphorically to help were those who could not help themselves. Her friends at Stone Lodge were not the residents but the workers - again her hair care person, Gloria, her bath people, her room cleaner, her foot care people. She could talk to them about the Jays, CNN news that she watched with her friend from Africa, Tsige; her friends at The Wenleigh were fast becoming the PSW's and not the residents. Mostly, because she complained that no one there had clear minds like her.
Which is my conclusion: mom struggled because she was always thinking (and seeing and hearing) and responding to what the world showed her clearly and in her last hours with her O2 levels in the thirties the doctor and nurses were shocked -- they said she can still communicate and essentially knows what is happening. They had never seen that before. Most people are confused by that point.
The consequence of this sight and insight is that she was often hurt. Hurt that people didn't see things the 'right' way, her way, and she couldn't make them understand about fairness, and equity, and the ways people should care for others. In many ways, because she had lost my father when they were so young, she had lost her protector and realized the protection others needed. A voice crying in the wilderness.
On her last full day alive, she asked for ice cream that William had brought her. Bill tried to feed it to her. She said, "No, I do" and she worked away at it albeit slowly. Her stubbornness kept her fighting with those who didn't operate selflessly out of love; her determination kept her alive through the loss of my father 37 years ago, through liver surgery, brain surgery, etc.; her chance to love our twins, William and Daniel and get to both of their weddings, helped her to get parenting more right; her generosity to others gave her unique opportunities without judgement for friendships that taught her how to accept all others, touch all others, help others, just as the true Jesus Christ did.
May we all follow her example and get up and do for others, know others, love others.
The Spirit and the Bride say, "Come." And let the one who hears say, "Come." And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb shall sing.
I know that my redeemer lives, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory" The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory.
For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first fruits of them that sleep.
Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by His blood, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing, blessing and honour, glory and power to be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Amen.
