Grief Is the Price We Pay for Love

It has been said by many that grief is the price we pay for love.  

 

I remember the day like it was yesterday when I found out my mom died suddenly of a heart attack.  It was a sucker punch to the stomach filled with the most unbearable pain I thought would never go away.

I’m still not sure how I made it on an airplane from Houston to Atlanta because my sobbing was absolutely uncontrollable and all I wanted during that time was someone at the airport, even a stranger, to hug me and tell me it would be alright.  I was hollow and my soul longed for comfort.  So much so that my sweet little third grader said, “Mom, please stop crying so much.” 

 

I showed up to GriefShare a month later still looking for a way to stop the pain.  I was 36 and I was not sure how I would make it without the love and guidance of my mother.  I still needed her!

 

I didn’t get to say goodbye.  She always made it a point to say “see you later”, never “goodbye”.  So I have learned that it really wasn’t necessary.  And I will see her later.
 

It took a while for God to mend this broken heart.  It’s honestly stronger than before and stronger In Him. 
 

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”  Psalm 34:18  
 

I am living proof.

 

Come join us at GriefShare on the journey from mourning to joy.

 

 

 

On Mother's Day and Every Day - Love Your Momma

I sat in the waiting area of an auto service center one afternoon earlier in the week while the tires on my car were being rotated.  When I arrived, the waiting area was not crowded, but it was loud and although I had not yet determined the source of the noise, it was difficult to communicate with the person at the counter to tell her what services I needed.    

When I sat down, the culprit of the noise became evident.  To my right sat two ladies, one in her mid-sixties and the other in her mid-eighties maybe even nineties.  The older woman was reading a book very loudly to what appeared to be her daughter.  She was reading a story about a young girl who lost her mother.  I was slightly intrigued by the story, but truthfully, at the same time a little annoyed at the reading out loud experience.  She read page after page and when she came to a word she could not pronounce or recall, there would be silence.  Her daughter would say the word and then her mother would wait a few minutes and either mispronounce it or say it correctly and then continue reading.   

I would glance over every now and then and observe this little frail lady with huge magnifying eyeglasses holding the book about 3 inches from her face.  It wasn’t too long before the auto service person told the daughter her car was ready.  She went and paid at the counter while her mom continued reading aloud.  She came back to the waiting area and said, “Let’s go to the car, you can continue reading to me there.”  The little lady got up, looked over at me and said, “She said we need to go to the car now.”  It was almost as if she thought I would miss her story time offering.  I smiled and told her to have a great evening.   

As they left, I noticed the mother’s hair all matted in the back and how thin she really was. It took a while for her to walk outside, but the minute the door closed behind her I began to cry.  If anyone had walked in at that very moment they might have looked at me and thought wow, this girl needs Jesus (boy, don’t we all – and always?!).   

I thought of how much I miss my momma and how I won’t get to see her on Mother’s Day or any day until I meet Jesus too.  But I’m also thankful she won’t be here on earth to deal with old age, dementia, needing to read aloud to exercise her brain, and to deal with matted hair from sitting back in a chair, lying in bed, and being sedentary too long day after day.   

What an example of true love this daughter had for her mother.  Selfless love. The same kind I’m sure her mother has shown her for many, many years. 

No one loves you like your momma except Jesus.  So on Mother’s Day and every day, love your momma because time is a gift and you never know when she won’t be with you any longer.

Hotline to Heaven

I’ve only dreamt of her twice in the nine years since she left us suddenly one morning and ascended to Heaven.  But, there is no doubt that these two dreams are forever engraved on my mind and in my heart.
 

There are so many days when I would give anything to pick up the phone and dial her number so that she could console me after a bad day and tell me that no matter how bad things seem, she will always love me.  There are so many days when I need advice on how to raise a teenage girl and to share how much I am going to miss her when she goes to college.  And then there are so many days with glowing excitement when I want to share with her all about her granddaughter’s accomplishments and hear her tell me just how proud she is of her.

But land line phone cords and cell phone towers don’t reach to Heaven, do they?

About a year ago, I had a dream that my mom came to visit us. The doorbell rang and my husband, Barry, answered it.  With a loud exclamation, he said, “Oh Pam, your mom is here!”  I was surprised and ran as fast as I could from the kitchen to the front entry foyer  - - only for her to be gone.
 

Last Saturday morning I woke up perplexed about a dream from the night before where strangely enough she and I spent an entire day floating on inner tubes in the water in neighborhoods (of all places!). The dream began by us placing our phones on a table and I asked her, “What if you need your phone today?” and she replied, “I won’t need it.”  While floating, when we came to a cul-de-sac where the water was too shallow, we would use our arms and legs as oars against the water’s current to guide us to deeper areas where the floating was better.
 

At the loss of their mother, a young person I know chose a coping mechanism of complete silence and instant hiding under a bed at the mention of the topic by someone else who brought it up in love.  I squeezed myself under the bed and joined them, where we were both eye to eye with one cheek on the carpet.  I shared with them how I understood their pain and that even when we are hurt and angry God is big enough to handle it.
 

He’s also a God that is BIG enough to send me these dreams to show me that even though I long for a hotline to Heaven, I truly don’t need one.  Mom is with me even though I didn’t see her physical appearance at my front door.  And she didn’t need her phone the day we floated on our inner tubes because I don’t need mine to reach her either.  Not only does she see the smooth running stream, but she also sees the hard currents that I face and knows all about them.

I’ll get to see her again one day ...

For now, I’ll just keep floating on the river.

 

Don't Miss the Bus

As I sat down on the church pew and bent over to place my purse on the floor, the first thing I happened to see was her black, orthopedic, two strip Velcro shoes.  When I sat up, our eyes met and we smiled at each other.  She was a frail little lady with gray hair and big round Harry Potter style eye glasses.  We shook hands during the morning greeting and I noticed that for the entire duration of the service, she wore her coat buttoned up and belted tightly.

Today was different.  This little lady and the other gray haired ladies surrounding me on the pews normally attend the early traditional church service, but today was Harvest Sunday and there was only one worship service, which was held during the later contemporary worship hour.  I sat in my regular spot at the contemporary worship time and perhaps they were in theirs too, just at a different time on this particular Sunday. Nonetheless, there we were - worshipping together. 

 

At the close of the sermon, the little lady beside me gathered her things, held her purse tightly and kept looking back at the double doors to the entrance of the sanctuary behind us. I could sense her anxiousness all during the altar call, the offering and service closing. So much so that at any moment I expected her to walk by me to make an early exit.  But she didn’t.  As we were leaving, she looked at me and said, “I just want to make sure I get home today.”  “Do you live close by?” I asked.  “Oh, yes, honey I’m just trying to get outside to the bus.  It will take me home.”

 

It was then that I realized she had been anxiously awaiting the bus from the very moment we arrived.  The buttoned up coat belted tightly and all the anxiety she was feeling stemmed from her not wanting to miss the bus to get home.

 

I pulled out of the church parking lot thinking I’ll be her in 30 plus years and might need the bus to get home too.  The truth is that scares me a little. And in that moment I understood her fear. 

 

But I’m thankful that only God knows the future and that He will get us all to the bus or to whatever means necessary for us to get home.  What’s important is that we don’t miss the experience before it’s time for the ride home.

 

 

The Love of God

I knew the day would be drawing near for Karen to join her best friend, Carol, in Heaven.  As I listened to the voicemail message she left me, it became more real that it would be sooner rather than later – and my heart began to hurt.  It seems the doctors have done all they can do to treat her cancer ridden body.  Cancer has now consumed her bones and has spread in the form of tumors all throughout her body.

Even though she lives over 800 miles away, God’s timing is always perfect, and I was able to visit with her one week after receiving this very sad news.  I knew it would probably be the last time I saw her before she leaves this world. 

When I arrived at her home, she was sitting on the far end of the sofa.  I gave her a big hug and sat down next to her, and Hannah, my daughter, sat beside me.  It was the three of us on the sofa together having a conversation.  She told us about her reaction while in the doctor’s office when he shared the devastating news that there was nothing further he could do for her.  She said upon hearing this, she waved her hands up toward Heaven and said “Praise the Lord.”  She is now wheelchair bound, in the care of Hospice nurses, and is being visited frequently by those who love her.  Her doctor has given her a remaining life span of six months.  In response to this news, she has made it very clear that she is not afraid to die.  After all, “Why would I be afraid of meeting my SAVIOR?” she asked.

She shared with Hannah some funny stories of my childhood and it touched my heart when she mentioned how much she enjoyed brushing my hair as a little girl, since she had no little girls of her own.  As I looked over and saw Hannah’s eyes filled with tears, I felt prompted to make two requests of my mom’s best friend.  I grabbed her hands in mine and with a very cracked voice requested that when she gets to Heaven  1.  Please let my mom know that I can still feel the touch of her hands in mine and 2.  Could she ask God on my behalf to somehow show me the sweet “best friend” reunion that will take place when Karen arrives to the city where the soul never dies.  While I was in tears, she on the other hand, in a very matter- of- fact way clarified my requests and then said, “I’ve got it darlin’.”

Knowing that one of her sweetest gifts is her singing voice, I needed to know her favorite song.   While she said it was difficult to pinpoint just one song, it would have to be The Love of God.  And she began to share the words--

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky

She told the history of the hymn and pointed out that the words were found on the wall of a patient’s room in an insane asylum after he had been carried to his grave.  I’ll never forget the smile on her face or the belly laugh she let out when she said, “If this person was crazy, I want to be crazy too!” 

I owe Karen a debt of gratitude for her beautiful words at my mother’s funeral. Their friendship truly is a friendship made in Heaven. http://morninggloriesbypambullard.blogspot.com/2014/02/a-friendship-made-in-heaven.html

Only God knows the amount of time Karen has left here on earth.  One thing is for sure - there is no doubt about where she is headed.

… and that her heart is filled with the crazy love of God.

Hallelujah.
 

Link to: The Love of God - version by Mercy Me

Jeremiah was a Bullfrog

A coworker friend of mine had asked me to join her to visit a local record store near our office called Heights Vinyl.  She had just purchased a record player as a gift for her daughter’s 18th birthday and wanted to peruse their selection of 45s and 33s.  As we walked in, the musty fragrance of collections of old album covers from households of days gone by hit me right in the face.  And to my surprise, along with it came flashing memories of my 10th birthday and my life as a 10 year old girl.

As I looked around the store, I remembered how excited I was to receive a record player on my 10th birthday.  I never had many albums, but do recall the heart throb Leif Garrett album and a single 45 of Rockin’ Robin (which I would play over and over singing every word including the ”tweet” and  “tweedle-lee-dee” parts).  My mom’s brother, my Uncle Carlton, also gave me a surprise album that year. I didn’t know the artist or the songs -- and most of all, I had no idea at the time how the words to Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World” would stay in my mind forever drawing me back to that birthday and being a 10 year old girl.

 

I was in fifth grade and I was bullied by a girl on the bus ride home every day.  We had been friends for several years, but when the new boy moved in two doors down from her, things changed - and fast!  I came in crying every day to my maternal grandmother, who was staying with us that year.  One day when grandma had enough of my tears, she called the girl’s mom.  The conversation went something like “Hi, this is Alma.  I’m tired of this bullying and we are going to solve this once and for all.  You send your daughter down to our house tomorrow after school and she and Pam will ‘duke it out’ in the circle in front of our house.  Okay…yes, see you then.” WHAT?!  Did she not know ME?  It was not long ago that I had tea parties on a daily basis with my dolls.  I was a Donny and Marie Osmond show sing-a-long fan.  I was a cheerleader.  I was a girl! And I was a girl that did NOT know how to fight!  I didn’t know who to be more upset with at this point – the bully or grandma! 

 

In grandma’s mind, this was nothing. During her school years, she and her three sisters were known as “The Babb Girls.”  They were ridiculed and bullied for many years because their father was in prison.  It was a life circumstance that she nor her sisters could control or change.  Fighting was a means of survival for her and her siblings.  I didn’t know how and didn’t want to learn!

Luckily, the next day, as the bully and I stood there in the cul-de-sac where we had played kickball on many summer days in front of the house and where we listened to records on my record player that year in my room, I found out that this girl didn’t know how to fight either.  We lost many a long blonde hair that day because all we knew how to do was pull hair.  I’m thankful for lost hair and from never hearing from the bully ever again.  

That next year, grandma gave me a Hallmark Keepsake Girl for my 11th birthday.  It has its special place in my china cabinet so that it doesn’t get broken.  This Keepsake Girl is in a long pink dress with an embroidery needle and hoop in her hands.  She’s feminine.  She’s dainty. And she doesn’t look like she would be the kind of girl to ever fight a day in her life - - that was me.  

 

Grandma soon taught me how to embroidery a little and she taught me how to cook.  It was through my Hallmark Keepsake Girl that I knew she really did know me.  

 

When I think back to the year I was 10 years old, I laugh and I cry. While her approach was not what I would have chosen then or now, I learned a lot about my grandmother, myself and how song lyrics can leave a lasting memory.

 

Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea.  Joy to you and me.  

 

 

A Mom's Wish

I’m not sure how many years she has been teaching high school education classes to aspiring future teachers, but I am thankful to have met her at open house at the beginning of this school year where her first words to me were “You must be Bull’s mom.”  I smiled, replied “Yes”, told her how much my Hannah loves her as a teacher, and proceeded to sit down at the small roundtable with the other parents as she shared what the coming school year would hold for her intern students.

Every new year brings new teachers and new experiences – at school and at church.  When the new school year starts, we also have what is called “Promotion Sunday” at church where all the students move up to their new grade level class in Sunday School.  Without fail, each year I say the same words to Hannah - “It doesn’t matter which teacher you have this year.  My only wish as your mother is that they share God’s love with you, but more importantly, that they show you that same love AND that they love you genuinely.”  As parents, the teenage world is often complex and perplexing to us.  I’m all in favor of the old adage: It takes a village to raise a child.

While I hope and expect each year for such relationships at church and am thankful for the sweet ladies who love Hannah and are leaving an imprint on her heart, I was pleasantly surprised to find it in an unexpected place - at school in the form of Ms. Rolanda Wilkins.

Ms. Wilkins is a confidant for students whenever needed.  She has endearing nick names for them – all of which fit them to a “T”.  She has been asked by students if she has any biological children of her own and her response is, “You are all my children.”  In turn, they refer to her as Mama Wilkins. She texts them on their birthday - and sometimes, even has special celebrations for them.  She commutes from Houston every day to teach and love her students at Kingwood Park High School. 

Hannah knew of Ms. Wilkins' love of lavender, so she bought her a lavender scented candle for Christmas.  Last night I was putting some clothes away in Hannah’s room while she was at work. As I looked down, I saw the candle sitting on the floor wrapped in cellophane tied with a pretty ribbon.  I turned the gift name tag around and it read “To: Mom, From: Bull.”  As my heart was wrenched with emotional pain, I sat down on her bed and felt the tears welling up.  The word Mom on the name tag made my heart ache and I wondered how she could call someone else Mom.  After all, I am the one who gave birth to her and genetically it would be impossible that this woman of a different race could be my blonde hair, blue-eyed child’s mother.

But that’s the beauty of love, isn’t it?

Where there is a heart full of love, there isn’t an ounce of room to worry about race, genetics, physical or emotional descriptions.  They mean nothing. 

Mama Wilkins, or Mom for short, I’m thankful you have fulfilled my wish and I know the love you give, even if only during the high school years, will last a lifetime.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of our village.

With Love,

Bull’s Other Mom