Of Bed-making and Legacy-leaving

I’m in California visiting my mom. She’s 82 years old and has lived in a convalescent home since 2005. It’s difficult to articulate the dynamics that have existed between us ever since I can remember, so I won’t try. I will say that, for us, it's always been hard.

Long ago, Mom began figuratively making the bed she now literally lies in. (An aside for the grammar nazis: proper usage of lay/lie has always eluded me. My English-professor father has tried and tried. Since I'm using the word(s) and their various (confusing) forms a lot in this entry, I even tried googling it which only added to my confusion. So, if I'm wrong and you know the difference, work with me and fagetaboutit. If you don’t, then at least you know you’re not alone.)

August 2011, when Mom was still
relatively interactive and coherent.

During my mom’s 70something years of contributing to society, she, like the rest of us, made choices; many of them. Growing up, I watched mostly dumbfounded as she lay wreckage to relationships, sabotaging herself and others with her choices.

The irony is that, all the while she was on a quest, desperately seeking love and acceptance. She had kids for just this reason. Four of us. And while I have no doubt my mom loved us dearly, she just didn’t have it in her to be the mom she desired to be, the mom we needed her to be. She was too empty inside. From the time she was a baby, she has justifiably felt unloved, unaccepted, unwanted. And there’s where the runaway train which has created the wreckage of her life began.

Now, Mom in a brief moment of
wakefulness, sipping coffee with pictures
and notes her grandkids made for her
 on the wall in the background.

So now, I sit next to her, as she lies in her bed. I pray, “Lord minister to her. Lord, don’t let her suffer any more. Please, take her home.” Yet, I don’t even know if she knows her Maker. As she teeters between this world and the next, the thought that she might not, is terrifying.

I stroke her hair and hold her hand as she stares blankly, drifting in and out of sleep.

Does she even know I’m here?

She wakes long enough to look at me, smile and say, "You have such a pretty smile.” My heart tucks away the treasure as she dozes off again.

Except for me, on the few times a year I can make it to California, my mom is utterly alone. No one visits her. Not one person. Ever. No one. It breaks my heart. The knowledge that she is reaping what she's sown, is no consolation. In her old age, her “golden” years, this is what it’s come to for her. 

Metaphorically, a part of me lies in her bed with her. How can it not? She’s my mom. The pain of her decisions have become a legacy of impossible-to-carry baggage for me, her youngest daughter. Just as the choices of my mom's parents' affected her, her choices have affected her children. In the same way, our choices will affect our kids, (now cue the "Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific" commercials) and so on, and so on, and so on. 

Why? Because we don't live alone on an island. Our choices affect others and we can't be playing the game of life like they don't. 

As each new day chips away at my mom's dignity, as she lay there all alone, make no mistake, she is paying dearly for this bed she made. She lies there in its relentless grip day after day after interminable day, with no reprieve. No matter her choices, she is a human being and human beings were made for love of which she has precious little.

The tragedy of my mom's life has been a sobering teacher for me. Watching her life-choices play out over the years, I am tangibly struck with the reality that our choices matter. While ultimately they affect the choice-maker most directly, our choices also affect our loved ones. Deeply. There's no way around that. I want to use the gift of free-will wisely, with the Holy Spirit's guidance. It is far too powerful a gift to rely solely on myself to make right decisions for I know the flaws of my flesh far too well. I want to give my children a legacy and heritage that gives their hearts wings to fly, not burden them with impossible-to-carry baggage. 

The power to choose is ours. The legacy we leave is up to us. 

Lord, help me choose well. Let me live a life full of love 1 Corinthians 13 style. Let me leave an honorable legacy that gives my children wings to fly.