There have been so many moments lately when I felt like my Mama was sitting right beside me. A silent, I've been there - you can do this, vibrating between here and hereafter. Her last physical struggle on this earth - the one that propelled her departure - is the diagnosis I heard a few days ago. There is an obstruction. The treatment plan, an NG tube, fluids and time, was the same. The outcome, though, was very different. Mine was positive, the obstruction cleared, the tube came out, I came home. Hers was not to be. She got worse. She died.
It has been sobering and oddly comforting to be walking Mama's path. It's familiar to my ears. And there's a fellowship with her that is almost sweet. A shared suffering that tightened an already strong bond. It won't be the same. The situation is different, I know this. I'm younger than she was. I started health screenings many years ago. I'm being proactive where she hid her symptoms for so long that she was left with very few choices when it was finally brought to light. I have choices - mostly lifestyle - that will make a difference. Still, my first response to the doctor's assessment was a tear-stained whisper, Mama. It was a cry and a prayer and a leap into her arms. The answer came in the form of a barbaric tube and a few days patience. Then healing rest and mindful choices. But in the hospital-eerie-night, the cloying attachments to my body preventing sleep, the thing that kept me from despair were Mama's words as I was about to give birth to my first-born: Don't fight the pain. The pain is your friend. Let the pain do its work. So I gave in and embraced the whoosh of the suction, the beep of the IV when I moved my arm, the nasty tube taped to my face. The beautiful-horrible-painful things working to help me recover. And while I slept very little, a sense of peace descended.
It comes that way, yes? When we stop fighting and resisting. When we embrace the peace in the midst of the pain. We endure dark, frightening nights and wake to better mornings. Over and over. Until finally, one day, the dawn will come over a different horizon. A glorious one. The best one. The pain will have completed it's creative work. And we will be whole. Like Mama. Until then... Selah.
I will extol thee, O Lord; for thou hast lifted me up, and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me.
O Lord, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave:
thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.
Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.
For his anger endureth but a moment;
in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night,
but joy cometh in the morning.
Psalm 30:1-5
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