it’s not about you

Today is Bitsy Day - the day my family celebrates my mother’s going home and also grieves the fact that she is no longer here to enjoy this side of life with us. It’s been nine years now, which is kind of scary - that means next year will be ten years. TEN YEARS. I don’t even want to talk about that, if you don’t mind.

I’ve been a little weepy today, but so far not too bad. Last night, the Scandrette’s came downstairs and joined us and our housemates for our daily reading, and after we read the chapter, we spent a little bit of time in prayer together. After we finished, I mentioned that today would be the ninth anniversary of my mother’s death. I started to tear up. I don’t like crying in front of people, so I was doing my best to buck up. Mark commented, “Your mom must have been an amazing woman for you to still feel so much emotion when you talk about her.”

I just tried to buck up some more.

Joshua brought me my breakfast in bed on his way out the door to go to work (like he does every day - my wonderful, loving husband) and asked me if there was anything special I’d like to do today. I immediately teared up.

It’s always right there, ready to brim over on this day, making my eyes burn and my contacts cloud up. Remembering what happened on this day is still so raw…remembering details and senses and what I was wearing and how it felt getting soaked running across campus in the rain to receive bad news…what it felt like to go to a safe place to talk with someone, and then not being there…feeling so alone, even though I was always with someone…the pause on the phone at the airport when i called to ask how she was doing…how beautiful the sky was above the storms on the trip home and how it seemed surreal to be that beautiful when the earth was weeping with me…having to be led through the airport because I cried so much, so long, and so hard, that I could no longer see…walking in the house, everyone watching us, silent, with tears running down their faces and how shocking that was and how it made it real in that moment…

I was asked today what kind of things I think about when I remember my mom. It’s mostly every day sort of things. Having dinner together, what her closet looked like, calling her at work, her face when she would crack up at something Dad would say (I’m coming!), her favorite movies, how she encouraged us in our pursuits and taught us the things that were really important, cleaning the kitchen together, waking us up in the morning, getting mad when I’d turn the shower on and go back to bed, showing up at cross-country meets, swim meets, track meets…

Now as a mother, I remember her through Judah’s eyes. Singing me to sleep, holding me when I got hurt, attending to Band-aid sessions with the utmost importance, putting her foot down when she told me to do something, making me eat three more bites before I could get down, putting together an Easter basket even though I wouldn’t remember it, holding, hugging, tickling, cuddling, and loving me.

The life Judah grows up with will in many ways be very different from mine - we never moved until I was eight years old — we’ve already moved three times with Judah, and I’m betting on at least two more moves in the next couple of years. I grew up mainly in the suburbs, in a house with a big backyard and frontyard where we played baseball in the street. Judah is growing up in an urban environment, where you have to go to a park for grass and playing in the street will get you hit by a car or worse. I grew up going to a church building every Sunday; Judah’s concept of Church will be far different from what mine was.

But in many ways, her upbringing will be very much the same - she will be loved as much as I was, she will be surrounded by people who support and encourage her and direct her in ways that are good, who will help shape her and be who she is. She will learn to love and laugh and care about others and bring out the good in people and situations and to love God and follow Jesus.

When I freak out about being a mom or not knowing what to do with Judah in certain situations, I think about what my mom would have done, how she would have handled it. She wasn’t perfect - she messed up plenty and I saw that side of her, too - but she aimed for long-term consistency and always showed us love. And that is something I know I can do.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 25th, 2006 at 9:01 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.