plane

Good morning…

It was hard to leave Ohio with my mother in the ICU. I had a meaningful visit with my parents and siblings, but I was deeply concerned about my mom’s condition. On my final morning with her, the nurse asked her where she was and my mom replied, “I am at the Renaissance (the retirement community where my parents live), but I’m supposed to say I am at the doctor’s office.” In truth, this was her fifth day in Southwest General Hospital. Then visiting her in the afternoon before heading to the airport, my mom was extremely agitated. She thought a microwave was beeping and that food was burning. The nurse said she had been in this highly anxious state for about an hour.

As I boarded the plane, I wondered, “Will my mom’s mental sharpness return?”

I was flying back to Atlanta to teach our final Lenten Lunch and Learn class. Settling into a window seat, I opened the book we are studying together, Winter of the Heart: Finding Your Way Through the Mystery of Grief by Paula D’Arcy. Reading the final three short chapters, I thought I was preparing a lesson for the class. Instead God was preparing me for my own unexpected season of grief. Nestled in row 31, seat F, I quietly wrestled with several book quotes from Chapters 5, 6, and 7.

  • Healing arises from the love we have for our loved one, a love that is part of the greater love moving in secret rhythm throughout life. (I feel a deeper, expansive love rising up in me for my mom, my dad, my siblings.)
  • Healing opens our eyes to the knowledge that life is fleeting and fragile but still beautiful. (Less than a month ago my 83-year-old mom was healthy and independent, loving her active life. Now, what new form of beauty might emerge among us in the days ahead?)
  • Healing opens the heart to the presence of an inner light that guides from within. (How might the presence of God’s inner light guide our family forward?)
  • Healing asks us to give up our insistence that life will unfold in a certain way. (I have always envisioned my mom as an attentive great grandmother to our kids’ unborn kids eventually. Might our life story unfold in a different way?)
  • Whenever possible, do the grief work when the wound is fresh. (Right now I re-read in the margin the words I wrote on the plane: “My loss to grieve: What if my mom never regains her mental sharpness?”)
  • A time of deep loss is a time of heightened opportunity. (What new healing opportunity exist now for me, my mom, our family?)
  • We learn that everything is more than it appears to be, and we are no longer persuaded by the false important of a single thing. (Again I re-read what I wrote in the margin: “My mom returning to the way she was.” Am I willing to give up the false importance of this single thing?)
  • When all of our illusions are shattered, we sometimes find what sustains us. (Shedding my own expectations, I trust God’s will to evolve. Wrapped in the Lord’s palpable love, I rest sustained.)
  • Eventually we ask ourselves what truly honors someone’s life: Only love honors a life. (I am free falling into God’s deeper love to honor whatever my mom’s new normal might be.)
  • A healed life is not without its challenges. We still have a history. But that history is no longer our lens. We are learning to live from a greater heart. (Slowing learning to see through the eternal eyes of God, I feel the lens of my heart changing. What was fades away, what is pure gift.)
  • One day we begin to watch for the blessings. Everything is gift, and gratitude is a powerful lens. (Might my mom’s current limitations become an unexpected gift? I am grateful for these extra innings with her on earth, whether they last days, months, or years.)
  • This is the invitation: to see what life really is, and then cherish it. (Dear Lord, please help me to cherish life “just as it is” as your higher will takes form.)

When I first opened Paula’s book six weeks ago, I was not in a grieving season myself. Yet the LORD went before me to blaze a new path. Now, with the gentle guidance of God, I am finding my way through the mystery of my own unexpected grief.

My eyes are dim from grief. I have called on you daily, Yahweh. I have spread out my hands to you (Psalm 88:9, WEB).

…Sue…