Mama

It was a lot of little things that did it. Something I saw about the National Cemetery here made me think about Mama.

I thought about Mama refusing the grave-site for daddy there when he died because there could be only one plot per family. She bought two side-by-side cemetery plots at Mt. Hope.

Other little things made me think about Mama some more.

Tonight I thought about the recurring bad dreams I had for years, nightmares really.

In 1970 Mama disappeared, vanished off the face of the earth. She left all her stuff in the house and her car in the driveway. No-one knew where she could have gone. Frantically we searched but years went by without a trace of her, no letter, no sighting, no word at all.

In my dreams I searched, going from house to house, person to person, even to neighboring towns, all without success. In one dream I was staying at my grandmother's house when Mama left, and I was devastated when I realized she was gone without leaving any indication. In another dream I was at her house, going from room to room searching for some clue but finding none.

I refused to believe my beautiful talented mother would simply abandon my brother and me and disappear willingly like that. She had grandchildren that she adored. She couldn't have left them voluntarily. And in my recurring nightmares I looked for her everywhere but never found her.

The fact is, she did abandon us. She did leave voluntarily. In June of 1970 Mama died, and for many years I had those nightmares of searching, and searching, and not finding her.

Tonight I cried for her again, missing Mama, missing Daddy, and missing Tim, still feeling abandoned but understanding us all much better.

I might cry again one day but they will be tears of self-pity, selfish tears. Not tears of anger, resentment and bitterness like they were in the past. And they will be short-lived, because I know that they are together now, these dear people I loved and still love.

I don't have to search for Mama any more, she and Daddy are together. And Tim is getting to know them as the days go by.

Six Months

Yellow Flowers
Friday will be six months since Tim died. Yesterday I took my camera to the cemetery to take several shots of the grave marker and the yellow flowers I'd put in the vase some days ago. I wanted to check that the flowers weren't blown away by the storm the other night.

When I got out of the car, it was as if I could hear Tim say, "This place is creepy, all these graves for people who aren't actually dead..." I understood what he meant.

If Jesus was their Savior, they are more alive today than ever, enjoying the beauties of heaven and the wonder of His presence, as well as the fascination of whatever assignment they have now.

I told him, "I never thought about it that way. Anyway, I'm not doing this for you, remember. I'm doing it for other people." I checked that the flowers were okay, then took my photos and headed to the grocery store. Time for cat food and kitty litter again.

As I pushed the cart up one aisle and down another, I passed by things I don't buy for Tim any more, but this time it didn't bother me so much. I looked at the fresh fruit and wondered what kind of snacks Tim nibbles on these days. Ice-cream flavored "grapes?" Cheese-flavored "canteloupe?"

And what delicious things does he have for breakfast, lunch and supper in heaven -- bacon-flavored "oranges?" Scrambled egg-flavored "apples?" Grilled chicken or green bean-flavored "bananas?" (In addition to oranges and apples that taste like oranges and apples, of course.)

Tim is okay, much more than okay, really. And we will be okay, too, his family who still miss him so very much.

What is Wrong With People?

For many weeks I did not hear from Mrs. x or Miss y. or Mr. z after Tim died. I saw some of these folks at church but they didn't get close enough to ask how I am doing. If I headed their way, instead of a greeting, they offered a nod. Sometimes when they saw me, they even turned away and walked in a different direction. Having a death in the family gives you a dreadful germ, like the plague, I guess. Even in church.

I did get in the face of one young fellow that Tim and I used to be friends with. I asked him how he was, since he didn't ask me. He sort of stammered, then apologized for not having spoken to me in the weeks since Tim died. He actually had the guts to tell me "I didn't know what to say."

I think I know his problem. Like so many of our Christian friends, he had prayed for Tim to be healed. But Tim died. Was it a failure of his prayer? A failure of his faith? Was everything he believed wrong? Instead of seeking answers, he avoided the questions by avoiding me.

Some people acted like they're afraid death might be contagious and maybe I'm a "Typhoid Mary." They sent me a card but they wouldn't talk to me in person.

I discussed this with several pastors and elders at my church, suggesting that perhaps we need a grief ministry. Somebody to insure that newly bereaved members aren't left to grieve alone in the weeks and months to come. But nothing was done. It's as if a bucket of fried chicken and a basket of flowers is enough - "Everybody's too busy, somebody else will probably do it, it's not my job, if you think it's a good idea then you do it," etc., etc., etc.

Things have improved in recent weeks, I'm glad to say. Most people seem back to normal, greeting me and asking how I'm doing now, seeming genuinely interested again. So I tell them, forgiving their earlier behavior.

And I have decided to make new friends, do new things, go new places, and try not to take that avoidance behavior personally. Because I don't think it's personal. I think it's fear. What a pity.

"If you've done it to one of the least of these, you've done it to me..." needs to be taken more seriously. I am praying that I myself will take that verse seriously, no matter what Mrs. x or Miss y. or Mr. z does or doesn't do.