I've been lost in a haze for the last 3 days, in more ways than one. First my city is on fire. Even though I'm at least 30-40 miles from the fire, it smells of smoke and the skies are brown above me. Second my headache has returned, but full throttle this time. I made an urgent trip to the docs last night to try and level it. Demerol is good. In moderation of course.
Yesterday was also momma's "birthday." I thought about her all day and was reminded of a story she told me once. She had been unconscious for about2 weeks, and then began emerging from it but completely delirious: didn't know who people were, thought she was in DC, was seeing ants crawling on her skin, told me the cops were after her, thought she was pregnant because her belly was swollen, and didn't get that she was a sick, sick woman who we had lost, but the docs had brought her back. But in a moment of clarity, momma shared with me this story:
I was in pain and my body was hurting. But I was strong and trying to hold on. I looked up and there was a beautiful bright light streaming down towards me. And I had no more pain. I followed the light and a loud, strong, comforting voice came down over me. It said "Take a look." And so I did. It was like I was on a pendulum. As I leaned to the right, the pendulum would swing outwards and I could see every part of you growing up, when I was done I would lean forward and see you as you matured. Then I leaned to the left and would swing past the early days of courting and marriage and teaching and buying our first home. I could go past each memory and see how beautiful and blessed my life had been. There was no more hurt and no more pain. And when I was done the voice returned and said, "It's okay. You can let go now." And I thought I did, but then I woke up back here in the hospital.
It was a touching, poignant story. Immediately after mom was able to express this, Dad signed a DNR (do not resuscitate) form. Obviously it had been her time to die, but we mere mortals on earth wanted her SO badly to be here with us, that our focus was selfish, when it should have been all about her. This part is always so painful to relive, so I don't dig it back up very often. But the story was beautiful. Momma's face as she closed her eyes and smiled and she recalled each detail of the "dream" was like nothing I've even experienced before. She was so delighted to have had a chance to spend a little time on each happy memory. She wasn't caught up in the fact that she HAD let go, but we brought her back. I still wonder though, even today, if she had any resentment about it.
So last night, through the haze of my city being consumed by fire, and my migraine being consumed by Demerol, I remember that I did learn ALOT from this too. Most importantly was that GOD is real, and my momma was going to be saved. This, my friends, is how I celebrate momma's birthday. She is SAVED. Happy Birthday Momma.