Three weeks after the death of my mother, I went inside her room for the first time. I pushed open the door, stepped over the threshold, and wept for the first time since the day before my mother’s funeral.
I leaned my head against the wall and mumbled, “Mama, why did you leave me?” When I heard the words fall from my mouth, I was startled by the pain and desperation in them. What did I mean by that question? Did I wish she was still here? Or did I wish that she took me with her?
You know… My mom has been sick for thirteen years. She had heart failure, hypertension, diabetes, end stage renal failure, permanent damage and complications behind two strokes, and end stage renal failure. I knew this day would come. I really did. I prepared myself for it each day of the thirteen years I was taking care of her. Or maybe I should say that I tried to prepare myself for it. But the truth is that there is no real preparation for the “real” departure of a great parent.
I stood in Mama’s room for about five minutes, trying to muster up the courage to take one more step. I couldn’t do it. I turned around, closed the door behind me, and prayed that I would have the strength another day.
I’m hoping that today will be that day. I will say a prayer, take a deep breath, and enter my mom’s room once again. This time, I hope that I’m able to walk in with the boldness and courage that I saw my mother function in for at least the 41 years I’ve been alive.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
No comments:
Post a Comment