…
He speaks with unnatural ease, as though nothing is the matter. As though he is simply regarding the weather and not what has happened to our loved ones.
Ones I will never see again in this temporal world.
“I had her laid next to your grandfather in the veteran’s cemetery.”
On a scrap of paper an address is written. I watch shaky hands writing numbers and letters that may guide us back to her one day. Or at least to a stone with her name on it.
I was not there when she took her last breath. I was not there when they placed her body in the ground.
And I hate him for this.
Why did you do it? Why? I want to scream. I want to wring my hands around his neck, though outwardly I listen to his rambling explanations and details. How he dragged her across the country. From state to state, like one in hiding. How he tried to care for her himself, though she was elderly and he was not capable.
None of it makes sense. His mind is drenched in paranoia. His thoughts are like secrets whispered in shadows.
I am weary. I want to leave. And I never want to come back again. But he is the keeper of the story. He has locked in his mind a million images of my mother that I long to see, images he will take to the grave with him if he does not give them away. And so I ask him to tell me the things I don’t know. Tell me the stories she would have told me.
He slips into story and memory, like a song the heart knows. And I find myself softening as I listen. It soothes some aching part of me to know these things I’ve never heard. A puzzle piece found and put in place.
“Do you remember that gift?” I ask him tentatively, a chink in my armor showing. “The one you sent for my birthday? The one that was my favorite?”
I am a small girl tearing at the packaging tape on a big brown box. Pure joy rushes through my veins because it isn’t often that a box so big comes for a person so small. Mommy stands beside me, watching, with a smile on her face.
No. He doesn’t recall.
“I didn’t send that.” The corner of his mouth curls. “She must have sent that to you.”
…
(sigh)...you are so right..."things that only Heaven can fix". I saw bitterness rip my mom's family apart. They are all estranged from each other because of hurts,mean choices,hardness and festering anger. It boils me the things that were done to my mom...but, it breaks my heart even more that because of it, she lost her family. Looking forward to the day God restores. Thank you for writing, and allowing us to look in your heart. Your words are so raw,real and beautiful. I crave more!
ReplyDeleteI love the armor analogy--when it comes to this aspect of our life story, it must be firmly in place or the vulnerability can be disconcerting. As opposed to the first time I read your blog, my armor was ready this time, and I won't be rendered useless the rest of my day wandering around the house in my PJ's unable to focus on anything. :)
ReplyDeleteI know the gift you speak of and how his being unaware of it forced me to try to push away yet another root of bitterness in my heart caused by him. It was a realization that he had not sent any of those childhood gifts. But it was also a sweet reminder of Mommy's deep love for us. Makes me wonder about other things she did for us that we will never know. I love having motherhood in common with her now...I only wish I could talk to her about it.
Maybe bitterness is not the right word for what he brings out in me. It feels more like longing...the insecure longing of a child that I just can't give in to. I appreciate that he remains nameless in your story.
I'm so thankful for Jesus. In Heaven, the only scars that remain will be His. For by His wounds, we are healed.
I love you.
That's where I want to pick up next week - that I never knew her as a woman, but now as a mother I know her heart. And when I picture her dropping off that box at the post office, I know exactly why she did it. And I love her all the more for that. I was so thankful that I asked him about that, even though it hurt for a moment. It was like having one last gift to open from her.
DeleteLove you.