My mother lost her mother to Cancer at 5 years old.
Her mother loved her.
I know this.
Yesterday in church I
found not only deep pools of forgiveness,
but also waves of sadness for the life my mother led.
My mother needed her mother.
She needed to be held and nurtured in the way a mother can.
I am a mother.
I thought before the birth of my son, that I felt Love.
I had not felt Love.
The love a mother has for her child is some other thing not of this Earth.
My mother deserved to have that love in her life.
So did I.
Alcoholism took that from me.
Cancer took that from my mother.
In the pew with my son,
I could feel the Love that is held for me by my God.
I could feel the love I have for my son.
I have Love and for this I am grateful.
As Father Chrys placed the ashes on my forehead yesterday I began to cry.
He gave my mother Last Rites the day before she died.
Father Chrys made a special trip across town to give my mother Last Rites.
Loretta, our parish secretary, had a strong feeling that Mommy did not have much time left.
“I think Father should get over there today. I am sure of it,” she told me.
And she was right.
Mommy died the next day.
Father Chrys looked me in the eyes
as he made the sign of the cross on my forehead with ashes.
I could feel his thumb on my skin
and I could feel the tears rolling down my face.
I watched as he made that same sign of the cross
on the others gathered for midday Ash Wednesday services.
I watched Father Chrys touch each of us.
I thought of my mother.
I thought of Father Chrys making the sign of the cross
on my mother’s forehead during Last Rites.
Sometimes things come full circle.
Sometimes we are in one place and another at the same time.
I had not been able to be with my mother as Father Chrys gave her Last Rites.
I was with my son.
Yesterday, I was both there with my Son in mass,
and with my mother during her Last Rites.
Life is weird.
You can be in many places at once and each of them can heal.
During mass the call went out for us to name our recent dead;
to pray for them as a parish.
“Kay Winkel,”
I said loud and clear and hers was the only name called out.
As we left the church my son commented,
“The church is getting smaller.”
“No,” I said, “YOU are getting larger.”
We walked to the car together my son and I discussing the homily;
Father Chrys calling us to remember those in Poverty,
those that are hungry and those in pain this Lenten season.
My son and I drove away together
and the Love I feel for him
blended with a Love I can feel for my mother.
We laughed and we moved on with our day.
Our church is not getting smaller. It never does.
We get larger.
We always do.
Peace, Jen
While moms everywhere seem to be toasting as their tots run about, for some mothers the stress of the day-to-day duties can result in problem drinking. Here are the stories of two of them.
