Goodbye, Mom
My mom is 92. For a 92-year-old, she’s doing well, but probably only months away from long-term care. I’ve heard this period of time referred to as The Long Goodbye, and navigating that goodbye has been increasingly on my mind.
As I’ve shared recently, both my parents experienced trauma. This is a good time to emphasize that trauma is the psychological damage that follows adverse events (or a series of events), not the event itself.
That's a somewhat “science-y” way to say that my parents were hurt. A lot.
In both cases, the hurt came from their parents.
For whatever reason, Mom didn’t finish high school and trained as a beautician. She cut hair and performed nail care for the wives of upper-middle-class crop farmers in Hughes, AR, beginning in 1957. She met my father a year later, and they clung together, eventually marrying and settling into a new life, living in a rural east Arkansas former plantation house. The walls were papered with newsprint and pain.
At some point, the young couple began attending an Assembly of God church in West Memphis. My father “gave his heart to the Lord” early on, and I understand that he was delivered from his alcoholism almost immediately.
Life slowly improved, at least on the outside. My parents bought a new home in a modest subdivision ( OWN AN AIR-CONDITIONED HOME FOR $4950, with EASY PAYMENTS!!). We drove to church in style every Sunday in our 3-year-old Plymouth. Despite external indicators of economic progress, their inner lives were still racked with pain and would be so all their lives. Mom’s experience changed her forever for life.
Prayer was a central, focused expression of their faith. It was such an important focus that at one point my father created a beautiful prayer bench displayed in our home. It remained there for years.
I grew up and out of the AG church, rejecting its culture and way of being it demanded. Once out of those doors, I pursued my own path, which meant trying to prove my own worth to myself.
It took forty-five years to find renewed interest in Christ’s teachings. My own lightning-bolt moment came as a result of answered prayer. The thunderclap that followed that lightning strike continues to this day, sparking interest in the growing scientific evidence for God.
I found out only recently that my mom has been praying for me for decades.
Decades.
She’s a quiet person. I have many memories of her washing dishes in silence. No radio, no blaring TV. I’d occasionally see her read her Bible or some inspirational material, but our home held no glossy mags from the checkout line. There were few things to distract her.
I now suspect she was praying much of that time. She was moving energy, participating in an ancient practice that is less to be understood than marveled at.
Awesome is a good enough word to describe the power it moves, although it’s a word that’s been cheapened considerably by overuse in our culture.
But not a great word. I don’t have the right combination of words to express my wonderment at this undiscovered country that’s come into my view.
All of this because my mom persevered through her pain to harness unseen power.
A power that revealed itself to me through the conduit of science. Now revealed, it continues to manifest effect.
Because of my Mom’s unflinching demand that God protect me and move in my life.
And I suspect that energy will continue to manifest for life forever.
Many thanks to my friend, Dr. Lori Chortkoff-Hops, PhD, DCEP, for inspiration with her own writing.
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