Sunday, June 29, 2003		Lessons From Life

Love can last forever

I can honestly say it was the best of times and the worst of times. I was joyfully expecting my first child at the same time that my once-energetic, zestful mother was losing her battle with a brain tumor.

For ten years, my fiercely independent and courageous mother had fought, but none of the surgeries or treatments had been successful. Still, she never lost her ability to smile. But now, finally, at only 51, she became totally disabled — unable to speak, walk, eat or dress on her own.

As she grew closer and closer to death, my baby grew closer and closer to life inside me. My biggest fear was that their lives would never connect. I grieved not only for the upcoming loss of my mother, but also that she and my baby would never know each other.

My fear seemed well-founded. A few weeks before my due date, Mother lapsed into a deep coma. Her doctors did not hold any hope; they told us her time was up. It was useless to put in a feeding tube, they said; she would never awaken.

We brought Mother home to her own bed in her own house, and we insisted on care to keep her comfortable. As often as I could, I sat beside her and talked to her about the baby moving inside me. I hoped that somehow deep inside, she knew.

On February 3, 1989, at about the same time my labour started, Mother opened her eyes. When they told me this at the hospital, I called her home and asked for the phone to be put to Mom’s ear.

"Mom — Mom — listen. The baby is coming! You’re going to have a new grandchild. Do you understand?"

"Yes!"

What a wonderful word! The first clear word she’d spoken in months!

When I called again an hour later, the nurse at her house told me the impossible: Mom was sitting up, her oxygen tubes removed. She was smiling.

"Mom, it’s a boy! You have a new grandson!"

"Yes! Yes! I know!"

Four words. Four beautiful words.

By the time I brought Jacob home, Mom was sitting in her chair, dressed and ready to welcome him. Tears of joy blocked my vision as I laid my son in her arms and she clucked at him. They stared at each other.

They knew.

For two more weeks, Mother clucked, smiled and held Jacob. For two weeks she spoke to my father, her children and grandchildren in complete sentences. For two miracle weeks, she gave us joy.

Then she quietly slipped back into a coma and, after visits from all her children, was finally free of the pain and confines of a body that no longer did her will.

Memories of my son’s birth will always be bittersweet for me, but it was at this time that I learned an important truth about living. For while both joy and sorrow are fleeting, and often intertwined, love has the power to overcome both. And love can last forever.

I bumped into a stranger as he passed by,

"Oh, excuse me Please" was my reply.

He said, "Please excuse me too; Wasn’t even watching for you."

We were very polite, this stranger and I.

We went on our way and we said good-bye.

But at home a different story is told,

How we treat our loved ones, young and old.

Later that day, cooking the evening meal,

My daughter stood beside me very still.

When I turned, I nearly knocked her down.

"Move out of the way," I said with a frown.

She walked away, her little heart was broken.

I didn’t realise how harshly I’d spoken.

While I lay awake in bed,

God’s still small voice came to me and said,

"While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,

But the children you love, you seem to abuse.

Look on the kitchen floor,

You’ll find some flowers there by the door.

Those are the flowers she brought for you.

She picked them herself: pink, yellow and blue.

She stood quietly not to spoil the surprise,

and you never saw the tears in her eyes."

By this time, I felt very small,

and now my tears began to fall.

I quietly went and knelt by her bed;

"Wake up, little girl, wake up," I said.

"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"

She smiled, "I found ‘em, out by the tree.

I picked ‘em because they’re pretty like you.

I knew you’d like ‘em, especially the blue."

I said, "Daughter, I’m sorry for the way I acted today;

I shouldn’t have yelled at you that way."

She said, "Oh, Mom, that’s okay. I love you anyway."

I said, "Daughter, I love you too,

and I do like the flowers, especially the blue."

(Culled from the Net)