At 19 in the midst of the struggle to set my course and figure out life, it was quite unexpected. My mother and I were still embroiled in the phase so many teens and moms endure. We had not emerged yet as friends; that perhaps is one of my deepest regrets, because there were things both said and left unsaid that could not be made right again.My mother was 38, vibrant, fun-loving, struggling herself to find stability after ending her 18 year marriage in a day when divorce was not commonplace. No one knew a blood vessel was burgeoning and weakening with every pulse of blood flow, soon to interrupt and change life forever as I knew it to be in August, 1969. Men had walked on the moon that year and Kathy would be leaving earth too, but hers would be a permanent departure. It was an ordinary summer day when the blood tore through the vessel holding it back and seeped through places and in spaces not meant to hold it, damaging her brain and stealing forever her smiling Irish eyes.
When one loses a mother, for most of us it is the loss of the one person who loved us no matter what and believed in us when we couldn't believe in ourselves. She is the permanent cheerleader no matter if we are winning or losing in the game of life. Mom would never know my children or answer the phone for the lifetime of questions a daughter wants to ask her mother throughout the years.
Nevertheless, she left her imprint on my heart and life in ways beyond those years that were cut short. Silly things like my toes that look exactly like hers, the memory of how she could make a special day just perfect with her attention to every detail, or the way she never gave permission to stay overnight until your friends got tired waiting and asked someone else! I also learned the hard way NEVER to volunteer her to do ANYTHING without first asking her, something I chose to do differently with my children :-)
This is the 42nd year of her death but it can still bring tears if I linger too long on memory lane. It was a Sunday morning at 7 a.m. that she died, the beautiful morning defying the pain I felt in my heart. In those days people were pushed out of their loved ones presence during the dying process, leaving them to die alone with strangers. Thankfully, culture has changed and now those who want to walk through the valley of the shadow of death with loved ones are permitted and even encouraged to do so.
Those first years after her death were years of turmoil and confusion. It was 11 years later that Jesus sought me and bought me with his redeeming blood as the hymn writer penned, and that has made all the difference for hope and healing. The Lord promises that His mercies are new each morning and great is His faithfulness (Lamentations 3:22-23). He has been my strength and source of hope for He loves me even more than my mother in whose womb I was fearfully and wonderfully made by Him (Psalm 139) and that love is an everlasting love!
