|
On a
cold day in December 1964, the doors of paradise
opened and welcomed my mom. My twenty-year example
and love of my life were snatched away from me with
the closing of her eyes. Drowning in tears, I saw her
peaceful face. She wore this newfound peace well as
she sped into God??™s arms.
I
stood as stone. Other girl??™s moms were supposed to
die, not my mom. Fed by watching her wane to skin and
bone and hollow temples across her face, I should have
been happy her suffering days were over, but fear
crept up my backbone. The hair danced on my arms.
But still, I wanted her alive. What would I do now?
How would I go on?
I
pondered now, as her daughter, how I patterned my life
after hers. I watched her live and react to her
trials and experiences. I mapped her character and
endurance as I watched her buoy courage to allow my
life to be better than hers. She went beyond the
limit to provide everything I needed. I was honored
to be her daughter.
During the intersection of my loss and pain, I
realized my pattern was gone. She had cared and
nurtured me in this daily habitat as the pattern of
life for me had been established. It was secure and
stable. But now, I was on my own.
Death had decreased half my family??™s parents. She
would never see me walk down the aisle. She would
never hold my children in her arms. We would all miss
this joy. Coping was difficult. It was like a dull
toothache. ???What now? Not me.??? I sobbed.
Life
moved along as life does. Then I passed her age of
death. The person who loved me unconditionally, this
seamstress left me for the second time. Now, I was
really on my own. I had to learn to handle life like
an uncharted voyage, a dress without a form. I became
a dress designer of sorts.
Jane
Johnson, veteran RN at Roswell, New Mexico??™s Hospice
Center said ???The burden of grief is the same for all
motherless daughters. But it??™s doubled when you live
beyond your mother??™s age of death. Your mom is your
role model. Your comparison guide is gone, and now
you are on your own???.
There were not enough marshmallows in the world to
stop-up or patch-up the hole in my heart. She was my
mother. She wasn??™t supposed to die. I wasn??™t ready to
hem this dress. I would have worn it tattered.
But
I was lucky in love. My husband is so much like my
mom. It hurts: their gestures, their sense of humor,
their loves for life, their care for others and
others??™ feelings, even their birthdays are just three
days apart on July??™s calendar. I was not ready to
close this book, but he opened a new chapter for me.
We write in it daily. My misfortune turned into a
future with pinking shears. God cut me a windfall when
He positioned Pat Meeks into my world. My clothes are
designer clothes that would not be worn by anyone
else.
In
Hope Edelman??™s Motherless Daughters, she states, ???My
mother??™s death completely rocked my world. Mothers
are immortal. Mothers don??™t die young. Mothers never
leave the children they love.??? She also knows mothers
aren??™t the permanent glue we always thought they were.
Hardships of being a motherless daughter have made me
a stronger person. I know that God does not put more
on us than we can handle. I know that I??™ve had the
greatest mom, and I know I have the greatest spouse.
I tire wondering where her fashion would have led me.
I don??™t know how different I would be with her still
alive, but I??™m learning to be content with where I am
and when the pain won??™t stop, I ask Pat Meeks for a
hug. And he hugs me just like she did before she was
snatched away.
Thanks Bob...........for all your support.
Carol Dee Meeks
http://home.midsouth.rr.com/kmhomepage/index.html |
