Dale's space

A Mother's Look

Note: A long time friend put a post on her Facebook status that said she missed her mother. Understanding how that feels, it made me think. Sometimes the only way I can deal with the emotions churning within me is to put them in words. This is just a verbal portrait of my feelings as I relived the final hours of my mother's life.

Many things may cross your mind when your mother looks at you. With a single gaze from the eyes of a mother a running child can be stopped in his tracks, silenced from screaming, invoke fear, or cause him to be overcome with a sense of calm that conveys the message, "Everything's going to be all right."

It was Sunday morning, February 5, 1978 as I was headed out the door to meet up with my friend, Jeff Marinelli. As I made my way through the house to the front door, I passed through my mom's room where she spent most of her days. By this time she had been battling cancer for thirteen years, and I had become accustomed to her remaining bedfast most of the time. However, today was different. As my sister, Dwon sat on the edge of the bed holding my mother's hand, my mother turned her gaze on me and without saying a word, I was filled with an ominous foreboding. Not wanting to give in to the fear, I mentally shook it off and told my mother I would see her later. However, I couldn't release the image of my mother's face and the silent message of her eyes. She seemed to be telling me something that was beyond communicable with mere words; but, what?

I walked out the front door just in time to see another of my sisters, Carolyn and my brother-in-law, Bill drive up. They had come from Irving to take my mother to Baylor Hospital in Dallas. My mother going to the hospital was not an out of the ordinary event. More times that I could count, she had gone to the hospital, received a new medicine or had a procedure done that served as a temporary fix and then returned home where, just like every other child, I thought she would be forever. Again, that ominous feeling seemed to be pressing down on me with the force of a furious storm.

One more time I looked back at my mother, and still, she was looking at me....saying something with her eyes, yet I just couldn't seem to (or maybe I wouldn't) grasp what message they bore. Indecisively, I made my way to the curb where my friend was waiting on me. He asked what was wrong and I tried my best to explain. He said everything would be all right, just get in the car and we'd do something to take my mind off my mother. So easily said, so difficult, that day, to make happen.

I don't remember what we did, what was said, or where we went. The next thing I knew, I found myself at home watching my nephews and waiting for some word about my mother, or better yet, for the car to pull up in front of the house delivering her home again. As I was staring out the window as though I could will the car to drive up, the phone rang. Quickly, I answered it. My brother-in-law was on the other end. He said I needed to get my dad a change of clothing because he was to stay the night at the hospital with my mom. I was to bring them and my nephews to Dallas. Once again, I don't remember much, actually anything about the drive from Greenville to the hospital in Dallas. I was in a state of auto-pilot. I had driven that route and roamed the hospital's complex so many times; it seemed my actions were an involuntary reflex that didn't need any conscious thought.

I walked into my mother's hospital room with my dad's clothing in hand. I looked at my mother laying unconscious in the bed and I knew. The message.....I knew the message her eyes were telling me earlier that day. Her eyes, though closed were visible in my mind and now I could almost audibly hear what they said. My mother's gaze was one that longingly viewed her child knowing that it would be the last time she would physically see him. Eyes that said, "I long to hold your head in my lap and listen to you tell me about the events of your day." Eyes that said, "I don't know what will come of you, but I pray I've instilled the character necessary for you to live life in a manner pleasing unto the Lord." Even now I can't comprehend how one look could hold so much meaning. But then, it was the loving, longing gaze of a mother fixed upon her youngest child.

Family members had already gathered, and my Aunt Clarice walked towards me and began to speak. I didn't need or want to hear what she was about to say. I turned and at a gait that was just shy of running, made my way to the end of the hallway where I met with a dead end that hosted a window overlooking the roofs of additional buildings. As I turned to look for some way to escape this nightmare, I again came face to face with my aunt. I couldn't run, couldn't hide, couldn't get away from reality. She opened her mouth and spoke. I don't know what she said exactly, I really didn't need to hear what she had to say. With all the kindness she could muster she articulated what was happening, but again, silence was all I could hear...I couldn't listen....wouldn't listen. Why did I need someone to tell me what I already knew?

Unwillingly, I allowed my aunt to walk me back to the room. I watched my mother labor to breathe (the cancer had moved to her throat and was closing her airway). It was unbelievable that someone could sustain life while only breathing at sporadic intervals that spanned 30 seconds or more between breaths.

It was as though I was watching these events unfold from a lofty height somewhere within the room. Yet occasionally, someone would say something to me and cause me to temporarily come back to reality. Even so, I don't remember much about those hours. I do, however, remember part of us gathering in order to go to my sister's house in Irving to try and rest. As we were leaving the room, my mother gasped again then went eerily still. This time it was different. It was a struggle for breath that seemed to say, "It's over." My sister, Dwon ran to my mother's side, slid her arm under momma's neck and cradled her head in the crook of her arm and said, "No momma, don't leave me. I need you." Even though momma was tired and no doubt was ready to accept the call of death, with great struggle she drew in another breath and resumed her previous state of existence.

Momma struggled for the rest of the night trying to honor a child's cry for help, but finally, her body gave in and her spirit entered the realm of glory where God had prepared a place for her. That was 31 years ago. So long it seems like another lifetime; so close it seems like it was yesterday. People say that time heals all wounds, but that's not true. Time, by God's grace, teaches a person to live with loss. Thankfully, through the blood of Christ, I don't have to sorrow as those who have no hope. One day, not only will I see Jesus, I'll stand beside my mother as we praise him together for eternity.