Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my Mom's passing.
My emotions about it surfaced this afternoon as I was putting on make-up. The memories of getting my Mom a job at the office I worked at and later letting her take over the care of an invalid somehow started the tears. Weird how grief manifests sometimes.
Then the realization hit.
My Mom used to sequester herself away at home with no initiative to find outside activities. I was the last child to leave the home. She often complained about not having places to go, though she intentionally drove her friends away and refused to make the first move towards them. She felt sorry for herself. She resented my social life as a single woman.
Though she wouldn't put forth the effort to make changes in her life, she looked to others to make the changes happen. And it became our fault if she remained unhappy.
I remember how happy she was when she started working at my office, tidying up on a weekly basis. I was glad that it worked out and that she had a reason to get dressed up and out of the house. And when she suggested taking over for me towards the end of my time working with a girl in a body cast, I was glad to do that. Her beaming face, filled with purpose...it was almost worth doing anything to see that face and experience the lightness in the house.
But it didn't last, and I couldn't consistently be the one bringing purpose or meaning to her life. The source of much conflict. Numerous expectations. Demands. Consequences for not fulfilling them.
There's an insect or animal of some sort that after its young is born, they eat the body of the parent for sustenance and nourishment.
In my case, I'm not the parent. But I recognize that pattern in my life. From the time I was a child, my Mom depended on me for counsel, comfort and help. I was supposed to make her feel better and anticipate her demands/expectations/needs. Woe to me if I missed it. Major problems came as I grew up and pursued my own interests, developed my own ideas and opinions, and was different from her.
Years of tug of war. Wanting her acceptance. Groomed to always consider her, I still had my own sense of self. Nervous, never knowing when the outburst would come. The angry arms striking, the hate in her eyes, disgust in the words she spat at me. Years and years and years of this. Up until a few months before she died.
I knew early on that I'd never be enough to make her happy and that I wasn't responsible for that. Of course I didn't mind helping her and wished I could have done more. But she required blood and all of me for sustenance, a price I wouldn't pay. The cost was not having her approval or warmth for long, long, long periods of time. She did emerge from the darkness to show her love at times, and I cherish those memories.
I realize now that standing on my body to be elevated, to sacrifice my needs and peace in order to gain your own, to demand everything and not give anything, neglecting, stealing, letting me rot to get fat...these patterns are WRONG. They were familiar enough refrains from childhood, so I participated in them in my marriage. But the same me that had a sense of self that preserved me from childhood eventually emerged enough to say ENOUGH.
And I don't raise my children in that same way. I won't let them consume me to the point of my malnourishment nor will I extract my identity or purpose from them. Only from God. They are a big part of my purpose, but I am not them and they are not me.
My sorrow melts into peace as I imagine Mom full of joy. A year ago I held her, kissed her and whispered words of love before she departed. I put my head in her lap and wept, and finally left her room. The song "I Can Only Imagine" played on the drive home. I'll never forget it. One of the hardest days in my life, but in perspective one of the best in hers.
I think my processing these things, healing, letting go and growing will make her glad. I am determined to be all that God has intended for me to be and to fulfill His purpose for my life.
My Mom is at peace, fulfilled in every way in the presence of Jesus. That makes me so happy. My prayers for her peace have been answered. Slowly I continue to process the damaged areas, allowing God to heal with Light and Truth. Mourning lasts for a night but Joy comes in the morning. The darkness fades, the illumination cleanses.
I love you, Mommy. I miss you. I wish I could chat with you in Japanese - the loss of that connection is still so painful to me. There's so much I want you to know about me, but in the many conversations we've had over the years, despite the difficulties in our relationship, I know that you knew me. It's amazing when you think of the Bible studies we had together and how God swet up things so that you'd come to know Him. I choose to hold on to your voice telling me how proud you were of me and let time erase the other words. I have your letters urging me to be strong and courageous, to never give up, to continually challenge myself. You'd be so happy to see me slender again. I miss you, Mom. When I sew or make something, you are still the first person I want to show. I can't go into a Japanese restaurant yet because you're not there - that was our special time. I know you tried to be the best Mommy you could. Jesus, please step in and be the Mom I need until I see her again.
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