Memories and Reunion

My mother died 11 years ago today.

She passed over mid-morning on a sunny spring day.

Her 83 years were spent in relatively good health, living independently even after burying her husband some years earlier. A sudden intestinal infection sent her to the emergency room and the next few weeks were spent with surgeries and skilled caregivers battling a mortal frame that simply could not endure the prolonged efforts to sustain her.

My brothers and I were giving ample notice, so we gathered at her bedside and she was able to see each of her five sons before her passing. She was conscious and seeing her eyes light up as each one would see their journey through - coming from Memphis and St. Louis as well as around the Ozarks. She delighted in her children.

I had the privilege of being bedside as she was loosed from her worn body. I had spent the night before singing to her in that room. Hymns that she had me singing at the Mary E. Wilson nursing home on select Sunday afternoons, and on dogwood tours in the Glenstone Baptist Church bus for seniors each spring when I was a child were repeated once more for her approval in the shadows of that hospital room.

My mother challenged me. Truth be told, she challenged our entire family on multiple levels. She wasn't above playing the lone female card in a house with five sons and a husband that she shared a tempestuous marriage with. She could illicit such frustration from me at times.

For clarity, for every frustrating flaw, my mother was generous, providing encouragement and an open door policy for our friends and bandmates through the years. It didn't matter how poor we were, and we were poor, everyone was welcome at the table.

My mother believed in me. To a fault. I literally had times I had to correct her and acknowledge that I was, in fact, wrong - or that I wasn't actually talented enough to do this or that. She thought I could do anything, and was vocal about her wishes to see me at least try.

Tonight I sat watching the fire, listening to music and with the support of my dear dog-friend Toby nestled next to me, just walking through the mists of memories. Some were good, some not so good, but all distinctly mine.

As the fire slowly dies and Toby shares his desire to go to bed, I find myself missing both my parents more than usual. While they struggled with issues that become more apparent to me as I age, I find myself spending less time thinking about the drama of those times and more about the promise of reunion that I have coming.

As I understand scripture, I get to see my parents again. They'll be healthy, whole, and we'll know each other. I find myself wondering what they look like; this healthy and whole pair? I also find myself a bit intrigued at what I will look like - healthy and whole - it makes me wonder.

I am grateful for the gift of my mother. I am grateful I was there as she passed over, and I take comfort knowing she heard me expressing my gratitude and affection for her caring for me all those years - undeserving though I may have been. Tonight, I am grateful for the promise of reunion.

I hope to see you there.

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