I was relieved that the first set of visiting hours had gone “well.” Whatever that means! What does “well” mean at your mother’s viewing hours? Is it the number of people who come? Is it their words explaining what your mother meant to them? Is it the unexpected childhood friends who drive from a different states to say, “I am so sorry for your loss”? Death is surreal.
The afternoon visiting hours were over. We still had the evening hours before tomorrow’s graveside service and finally a memorial service. We quietly drove to our childhood home and ate our first meal ever at the dining room table without my mother. All I remember eating was Beulah’s chocolate chip cookies before returning to the evening viewing hours.
My husband and I had spent the previous nine months traveling abroad and this was to have been the end of our sabbatical: A two week visit with my mother during Mother’s Day. Well, not Dan of course, but me. This was to have been the first Mother’s Day with my mother since college. Instead we were burying her next to my father the day before Mother’s Day. Life is surreal.
The “after work hours” people who come are plentiful and actually turn this affair into a mini high school reunion of Upper Arlington classes 1967, 1970, and 1976. The neighbors and church attendees who watched me grow up along with, bridge, P.E.O. D.A.R., symphony, investment and yacht club friends arrive. The people are recognizable, and their names usually come quickly, and talking with them made this more real. Julie’s conversation, however, took me by surprise.
“Your mom was so proud of you.”
“No she wasn’t”, I rebutted.
“She would come home from visiting you and tell everyone about your home, your children and you.”
“No she didn’t.”
“Yes, she did. I was there with my parents and their friends. She couldn’t wait to give us the latest description of whatever state you had moved to and how you were doing.”
“No, you are wrong, Julie, I can’t believe you are saying this. I longed for her approval. I longed to hear her blessing for anything. Did you hear me, Anything! I never heard anything close to what you are telling me. She never gave me affirmation or approval. I didn’t discipline correctly, my hair was never styled like she wanted, and my clothing was never to her standard. Even your mother told me to not try and please her because I never would be able to. Why are you telling me this now? You know my mom…knew my mom, I mean.”
We stared at one another and I finally said, “Why didn’t she tell ME those things?”
I awkwardly turned to the next person, and soon it was time to load up the car with items we had brought to represent her life: A Talbots shopping bag was the item that made everyone smile and remember my mom. Her sport was shopping. I was always proud of the way she dressed.
The following day, after the graveside service, Dan arrived in the nick of time from doing a seminar to eulogize my mother along with my brother, nephew and the Methodist minister who walked alongside us the past few days.
Soon after the memorial service my sister and her husband left for their Canadian vacation, and my brother and his wife flew to China. My friend Julie left for Florida and Jane went to Lake Erie. I was alone. I went to stay at my parents’ empty home.
I unlocked the back door and stepped into the kitchen. I closed the door and slid down to the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees. Where do I start? Where do I start? Do I begin emptying the refrigerator? Do I go up to my old bedroom and unpack my suitcase. What the hell do I do now? Soon I got up and carried my suitcase upstairs and began opening windows. The smell of summer began wafting into the bedrooms. Oh, I had not smelled the English privet hedge so boldly since the fifth grade when air-conditioning had been installed.
I pulled down the twin bedspread and changed into my pajamas and walked into my parents’ bedroom. I touched the bed, sat in the rocking chair, and I opened their closet doors. There on my mother’s closet shelf was a Five Year Diary. What? I grabbed it and ran to my bed. This was the first time in my life to sleep alone in my parents’ home. I devoured every page and finally when the sun began rising and turning the white walls pink, I took off my glasses, threw a pillow on the other twin bed and fell asleep.
She told me things I never knew and some I never wanted to know, but even in the darkest entries I felt like I finally got a second chance to know my inscrutable mother.
She struggled with her sexuality. She could be petty and cruel. For the first time I felt like I was invited into her scarred heart and could walk with her through some of her trauma.
I believe without a shadow of a doubt my mother knows Jesus. She has dined with Him and beheld His delight and honor. In light of His love, she cheers me on in naming her brokenness and joins me in grieving the heartache her life brought to her family. I don’t know why she placed her secretive journal in such an obvious place, but I choose to believe she wanted her children to know something about her hidden heart.
There are tens of hundreds of questions that have come since she died, and each question is a tender ache that enables me to anticipate the day we are fully reconciled. My second chance of knowing my mother is one of the central reasons I have begun to write for the Red Tent Living blog. My children fiercely love me. My grandchildren delight to be with “Mia.” But like most children and inevitably with grandchildren, the questions they will most want to ask won’t come to them until I am likely missing my mind or left this earth. Everyone deserves a second and a third and endless chances to know those they only knew in part but long to know in full.
Becky Allender lives on Bainbridge Island with her loving, wild husband of almost 40 years. A mother and grandmother, she is quite fond of sunshine, yoga, Hawaiian quilting and creating 17th Century reproduction samplers. A community of praying women, loving Jesus, and the art of gratitude fill her life with goodness. She wonders what she got herself into with Red Tent Living! bs
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“Everyone deserves a second and a third and endless chances to know those they only knew in part but long to know in full.” YES. This is a beautiful reminder of truth, Becky — that we only see each other and know each other in part…both those that are easy to love and delight in now, and especially those relationships where we long for so much more, where the scraps and threads of connection and knowing can leave us uncertain, insecure, and wanting. Thank you for your words.
Thank you for taking the time to reply. You are right, we only see each other and know each other in part…and especially a mother we long to know so much more. How I long to know more than I did and what I do now with my mother’s diary.
Thank you Becky for sharing your heart and those tender places. I long for second chances…thank you for the hope. Joan
You are welcome Joan. I send you love to all of those parts of your heart that are tender and yearn for second chances.
Becky,
Thank you for such tender and vulnerable writing. I’m sad that your mom didn’t invite you to share her scarred heart until after leaving this earth and I am curious to know how this limited her ability to bless you. Your children and grandchildren, however, reap the benefits of your willingness to share all of you with them. Thank you for sharing your inspiration and heartache.
Dear Natalie, thank you for your reply. I believe if my mother had had the privilege of being in a story workshop group and had had a group who heard her pain and echoed back to her the validity of her pain she might have been able to have healed in areas of sadness that left her jealous of what other people had. Jealous of what I had and she did not.
Dear Becky, Words from the past – your mother’s past and yours. Places to grieve what was lost, what was long hoped for but didn’t come this side of There. A second chance to re-frame the burnt and bruised places of your heart with His story conjoined with the new known about your mother. A gift and yet a place to rip open places you had covered with a scar of holding. I love your determination to extend a bit of grace and understanding to your mother. In that journey I hope you are offering yourself grace as well. I never knew my mother’s deepest thoughts. Her eternity is in God’s hands. Your words invite me to long and hope for what might be for my mother and me,should we meet up together over There. Thank you, Valerie
Thank you Valerie for seeing the speaking to the longing of my heart. And you are right about holding both the gift and the severe pain long covered up with saying I don’t care when I did care very much and longed very much for a deeper connection with my mother. I remember you, Valerie, with hope and kindness as you have deeply wrestled with your mother. May we sit together with our mothers in heaven one day. May our hearts be fully healed by His stripes. Thank you for your continued kindness with my story.
Becky – After reading this, I wanted to cry and sit with you, so we could exchange mom stories and feelings and memories and grief. I can deeply relate your heart here. The day I found a couple of my mom’s journals, I felt as though I had been given the biggest gift. I got to see this insight to her heart and story that I never had before. I was 18 when she died, but we never talked. She rarely engaged me or shared anything with me. She was distant and I always felt like I was a disappointment to her. Since her death I have learned so much about the woman she was, and the things that happened to her or that she did well before I came along. All of it has allowed me to have a grace and a love for her in her absence. I can say with confidence today that she loved me and was proud of me and delighted in who I was – but I did not always believe that. I am so glad you have a few nuggets of your mother’s heart. I look forward to the day with you, when we are fully reconciled to the mother’s we lost and can exchange a fully knowing, fully loving embrace in the presence of Jesus.
Wow…Wouldn’t that have been great to have sat together and share mom stories and feelings and memories!? I can hardly take in what that has meant to you to have had your mother die when you were only eighteen. Wow…what a loss…at least I would have presumed that was but I do not know you (I do not think) or your mother. It just is so dang young to be motherless (even a stern mother I was grateful to have had). Ah..I am glad you found out what she did well and how she love and delighted in you. Heaven…can hardly wait!!!
What a gift your mom left for you in her journal! I love the glimpses you have from her life. Yes, you have question and I encourage you to live into the answers you have today. I join you in my hope that my children and grandchildren will one day read what I ,too, have written. You are a blessing that will become more precious over time…savor the goodness of today.
Mary Jane! Yes! What an unexpected gift to find her journal. And, yes! I will live into the answers that I have today. Thank you for your encouragement,
My Dearest Becky,
I’m not sure if my sobs are for you or for me. As I began to read this sensitive piece, I thought to myself, surely this can’t be Becky writing again, so soon after other sensitive pieces? Then a husband named Dan was mentioned and I began to believe it was true. Your open, tender places are so clearly described as to be washing over me as the tears continue to fall. I don’t know how you do this. With regularity you redeem your hurts and your pain, ultimately drawing uplifting and healing conclusions for us all, about 2nd and 3rd chances in this case. As I ask myself how you do this I am hearing Papa answer, it’s the Holy Spirit child, He is the one using Becky’s pain to help heal the pain of others.
There’s a part of me who wants to hug you and tell you how much I love you and how blessed I am to be able to know your heart in such an intimate way. There is another part of me that is scared to draw so close to you, for fear of you being disappointed in my inability to think like you do or have as much grace to extend to others like you always do. I do love you Becky and that you’ve allowed me and many others into these precious corners of your heart. In that day, if not before, I will treasure fearless times of allowing us to know one another fully with the Father who has known us all along. Every time I read one of your posts you raise the barre for me. Perhaps I will be more and more fearless like you as I trust the Holy Spirit’s plan for me. I’ll be an apprentice in a Redemption Group Immersion, with Mike Wilkerson next week. I’m preparing my grace story, and will pray the Holy Spirit will use what I share to bring healing and encouragement to other women in my group. I want to be like you Becky because I see that you want to be like Jesus! May He bless you with continued strength and courage to keep on writing! Love, Laura
Well, you dearest Laura, have taken my breath away with your tenderness and great compliment of your reply. I am reeling from your kindness and it does feel very good to hear from you and accept your praise. I wonder, too, why I write and how much more there is always to say. Seems I have only superficially dipped the surface to all my heart holds and feels. Bless you in your Redemption Group Immersion with Mike Wilkerson. It sound awesome and holy. May you be used by your words and may much healing come for you and for others so that the chorus of praise to the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit be unending. Love, Becky
Dear Friend, you’ve done it again. When you write
, you touch places in me that I didn’t even know existed but once touched, I am never quite the same. You have a profound gift of helping me see truth in my own life, through sharing so vulnerably from yours. Thank you, thank you thank you: for showing up over and over and over again. You are a rockstar. 🙂 I love you!
Thank you Laurie for your kind words. It astounds me that something so real in my life can cause others to reflect about their lives in new ways. It is fun to hear from you. And I am sorry….YOU are the rock star!
This was so very good. Reading this to my husband, I was most curious about the places where my voice cracked and tears formed. Thank you for putting words to your stories and for continuing to share them. I am so very glad you do. This part especially spoke to me, “In light of His love, she cheers me on in naming her brokenness and joins me in grieving the heartache her life brought to her family.” In light of His love…yes! Your bravery to continue writing is a gift to me along with so many others.
Thank you Bethany. Your writing encourages me and is a gift to me too. Thank you for your kind words, Bethany.
Thank you Bethany. I cannot begin to tell you how timely your reply was this morning. The enemy was crashing down telling me I had written one to many stories about my mother and people were thinking, “Just get over it!”. Your letters and others help me hear Dan’s words: “This is not about your mother, this is about your life that you are writing.” Thank you, Bethany, of your words of life to me this day.
“In the darkest entries I got a second chance.” Profound, Becky, and so very hopeful. Thank you for sharing your tender heart of mercy and hope. I love your invitation to embrace the power of a mother’s blessing and the power of truth. Thank you for your heart and your story – a blessing in my day.
Thank you Ellen. I love your writing and am grateful how it calls me to see things in a deeper way.
As always your words pierce something inside of me that I didn’t know was hurting. As I age I am becoming more aware of a tendency to “hide” from my adult children. Not wanting to “bother ” them, not wanting them to worry, whatever the excuse may be. It is so much easier to concentrate on the grands who have such an unstained love for me, and I for them! I appreciate your unknowing challenge to be myself with them, and not keep the deeper things from them. What a gift you have for honest struggle, I am grateful that you are willing to share these things and give us all hope to become more….even as we age! Blessings….
Thank you Cindy. Your reply has prompted me to wonder about my children in new ways! Thank you for your very kind words. Yep, it is tricky too not say too much to our adult children.
Thank you for sharing this. My father died a month ago and this resonates with me in so many different ways. Sometimes the things that “haunt” me are the hidden places of his heart that I’ve only come to see in his death. There are so many questions I have for him. It is so wise that you anticipate your children and grandchildren having a need to know you further or to ask questions after you’ve left. Every time I read your work or listen to you on a podcast I think, “Man, it’s to bad she’s not adopting.” But then I realize that in your truth and sharing you are. You have mother many with your words. Thank you.
Tess, thank you. I had never thought about my words echoing to people who have adopted. I really did want to adopt! I am in conversation with some friends who have adopted and the struggles they have are sometimes intense. I have great respect for those who have adopted. Thank you.
Your writing draws out my tears ..my wondering heart… my tenderness for the loss of my mother at 19…..still needing what only my mother could offer me.
Wishing I knew to ask the questions that matter to me as a grown woman. Yours words invite longings to be honored….tenderness in my loss…..care in the reality of what was for my mother and I. The thought of a second chance fells so freeing. Thank you for the reminder to be transparent with our children and their children…loving them well. Keep blessing us Becky ~ you do it so well.
Dear Elaine, your words are life giving. I am so sad that you lost your mother at such a tender and young age. I will pray that goodness come of your longs and that you are mothered in new ways by Holy Spirit. Thank you for taking the time to reply. Hugs across the many miles.