You would think that saying goodbye wouldn't be hard when you know what follows goodbye is healing, perfection, love, warmth.
But there is this deal we as humans are created with that is both a blessing and a curse - emotion.
I sat with my Mama yesterday for the last time before we leave the States. We sat outside in the gorgeous 78 degree SC late summer weather. We watched tiny birds hop around on the ground, bright green lizards scurry. There was a gentle, cool breeze kissing our skin. I soaked it up, letting the presence of God hold me there as He has so many times before.
It was so peaceful, before I knew it Mom had fallen asleep. I reached for my phone and opened my Bible app, forgetting that I had last looked up a verse in Ecclesiastes instead of picking up where I last read in Exodus. When I hit the "Read" tab of Ecclesiastes 3, I stared in silence at the section header: "A Time for Everything."
Chapter 3, verses 1-11a read, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time."
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
I sat there, watching the rise and fall of my Mom's chest as she breathed, and simultaneously realized how much of a gift I was experiencing to watch her breathe, to sit with her alive on this Earth, yet found myself wondering how long He would tell her nostrils to pull in air, her lungs to expand and deflate with oxygen. How long?
I put my phone down, and reached for her hand. I held it there for a while as she slept, alternating between sobbing, silently begging her to forgive me for leaving. And praising. Praising God for being able to say goodbye.
I picked my phone back up and glanced at the time - 11:36. I had exactly 14 minutes left with her.
I waited a few more minutes, and did my best to soak her in. I studied her face, her beautiful face that still found ways to smile at me in the midst of her most debilitating of days. I looked at her arms, and imagined myself there, held by her too many times over the years to count. I willed my brain to take a snapshot, to take in every single detail and never forget.
I soon woke her gently, and said, "Mama? I have something to tell you." Her head rose and she looked me right in the eyes.
Through tears while holding her hand, I said, "We're leaving for Germany tomorrow."
She nodded.
"And it's going to be a while before I see you again. I'm going to miss you so much, Mama."
With that, she looked away, staring at something in the distance.
I continued, "I want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much. I'm so proud of you."
"I'm so thankful God gave me you as my Mama. I hope I can be the kind of mother you have been."
"You have been such a good Mama."
I wiped my eyes and looked into hers, unsure if she heard anything I said. I quickly realized it didn't matter - I got to say goodbye, I got to share my heart with her.
I asked her then if she was ready to eat lunch, and she said she was. As we were making our way back to the dining room, I heard her softly say something. I asked her to repeat herself, but over the background noise I still missed it. I stopped the wheelchair and walked around in front of her, bent over, and asked, "I'm sorry Mama, I still didn't hear you. What did you say?"
As clear as day, she spoke words that will forever be burned on my heart:
"I will miss you."
I lost it. I embraced her and sobbed harder than I have in years. She held me there, and as I wept, she pat my back and said, "Don't cry. Don't cry."
We stayed there for what felt like forever and a split second.
There would never be enough time. There will never be enough of my Mama's love.
When I had calmed enough to speak, I gently touched her cheek, and told her that I wasn't sure what the next month's would hold for her, but if I couldn't make it back to say goodbye, that I would see her again. She nodded and smiled, and in that expression I saw her. I saw my Mama, and all the grace and peace her eyes have spoken for years. Not dementia. Not a brain tumor. I saw her, and I know she understood.
In some ways, I wish I could freeze that moment. I wish I could stay there, wonderfully aware of time and how limited it is. I wish I could stay in that awareness that is a balance of an ocean of grief yet the deepest of peace.
In other ways, I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could stay in her arms as a little girl, feeling safe and looking at her like she was superhuman. I wish I could go back to my teenage years, and see her for the incredibly strong, loving, supportive mother she's always been. I wish I could go to my earliest adult years and yell at myself to go see her, to accept her offers of dinners. To go shopping with her, talk with her. To open my eyes and see her, really see her heart and the great love she has for me.
But none of that is possible. There is only now. As much of her as we've been given, it would never be enough.
So I step forward. I'm not sure how my feet work, but I try to walk. I'm not sure how to breathe, but I take a breath. I'm terrified of the future, but I trust Him.
I'm not sure how to say goodbye, so I say "See you later."
I'm unsure of everything. I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, trusting that when I jump it is not into oblivion but my Father's arms who hold me. The same arms who hold my Mama's precious life.
He makes everything beautiful in its time.
Thank You, Jesus, for the work You are doing. We praise You.
