She Is The Stronger I Am The Weaker

And Some Personal Reflections
About My Mom
For Mother's Day

On Sunday, September 16, 2007 my mother passed away into the next life. I was at my church, situated in the AV Booth, concentrating on loading and blending that morning's Powerpoint files. Uncharacteristically I had my cell phone on, and out on the counter top... The little window lit up, I did not recognize the number.... it vibrated quietly on the hard surface... I stared at it momentarily, slightly irritated that I was being distracted. Thinking that it was someone related to the church - maybe calling about a health issue or their inability fulfill some responsibility, I picked it up. It was one of the health care workers from my mother's Assisted Living Facility in Washington Pa. Her face flashed before my mind as she gave me her name and I listened intently to the urgency in her voice regarding my mother's fading life. My mind instantly flashed back.

I remember being at the Washington Hospital months before, with my brother's Bill and Bryan. The oncologist met with us in a small conference room and told us what we had secretly feared. After years of suffering and pain, the end was near for my mom.

Again, my mind flashed back even further I remember in early February not being able to get her by phone... I had an uneasy feeling. Ever since her back surgery she was in constant pain. I called around to her friends - they knew nothing about her whereabouts. Finally I called the hospital and discovered that she had pushed her Emergency Call Button early that morning - she was in the Emergency Room. I jumped into my car, drove to the Washington Hospital and entered the Emergency Room. Following my inquiry they permitted me to go back into the patient examining rooms. There she was curled up in a fetal position, lifting her head, she looked at me; her face brightened visibly underneath her tears. The back pain had become excruciating... She looked to me, and reminded me of a frighted little girl whose father had come to rescue her. I hugged her - trying to flood her with love, while at the same time I desperately wanted to somehow absorb her pain that radiated through her body. With trembling hands she wiped her tear stained face, and apologized to me (in typical-mom-fashion) for inconveniencing me, by having to go to the hospital. She explained that she had been up all night, limping back and forth between her bedroom; down the hallway, into the living room and back again over and over... walking in vain hope that it would bring some relief... eventually the pain was just too much...

A few weeks later, she would have a slight heart attack and during her hospitalization they discovered her Small Cell Lung cancer. Small Cell lung cancer is a carcinogenic cancer that typically attacks people who usually have had a smoking habit. It's very aggressive, attacks those areas of the body rich in oxygen - like the liver, lungs and bones. The tumors can grow and multiply very fast; destroying organs and splintering bones - and the cancer itself is incurable. The pain can be horrible.

Months later, I will never forget the look on her face when I signed her into Hospice. It's a wonderful program that is designed to specially attend to those who will die. Almost child-like and perhaps even a bit suspiciously she watched me from her wheel chair in that crowded lounge - as I walked past her to meet with the Hospice representative. I was resolved, her suffering had to end. She wasn't even half-alive; it was more like she was irrecoverably half dead.

Those kinds of decisions... no more chemo, no more radiation, no more blood transfusions, force you to look at life and death in a new kind of way... You have to make those kinds of decisions when it becomes apparent that a person crosses over from being half alive to half dead. With frightening clarity there is no way around the fact that the term of their life is placed squarely in your hands... These kinds of decisions, you make hastening their death, causes something to die in you as well... It is unavoidable.

I'm back at the church now... I've hung up the phone... In 20 minutes the Church service is supposed to start. Should I stay and finish the service? Will she live longer? Should I leave now and be with her; hopefully before she dies? Within minutes the decision was taken from me by the very kind and loving people in my church, insisting that I leave. My family - Ruth, Jeremiah and Jordan are not at the church yet, I should depart before they come because I am not sure I want them to see my mom like that anyway...

Minutes after the phone call, and while on the road, my mother finally succumbed to her cancer about 8 months after she was diagnosed. She was barely a shell of her former self physically. The cancer and her radiation and chemo treatments had savaged her body almost beyond recognition. Her hair was gone, her facial features were terribly gaunt (and bruised purple and green from a fall a week earlier); and she appeared to be as fragile as a dry brittle stick. Without desiring to be macabre, I can honestly say that I was glad for her, for her death. The promises contained in the scriptures about the after life comforted me and gave me confidence for her. What I remember most, despite her terribly broken body are a myriad number of precious memories of her beautiful spirit that remain indelibly fixed upon my mind and heart.

It's odd how our roles become reversed. When i was an infant and then a child, she was the STRONGER and i was the WEAKER... Then i became a man, and she became elderly and sick; then I was the STRONGER and SHE WAS THE WEAKER... BUT NOW... there, in heaven... SHE IS THE STRONGER and I am the WEAKER... What a great and amazing thought!!!

Again my mind flashed back to the time that I was driving home from the hospital, following our meeting with the oncologist having received the news about her cancer. Fighting back tears, I considered the years of her life... truly now quickly fading... An undemanding woman, with very simple tastes, expectations and desires from orthers in life - tragically much of which was either denied, taken or inaccessible to her. Inwardly I felt the painful swell of desperately wanting to honor her; and was determined to do so as best I could at her funeral, when I spoke. I wanted the world to know what an incredibly devoted mother she was to all four of her sons. That despite the fact her life appeared to be unremarkable, it counted for something... that the world was better because of her existence.

To a fault, she NEVER stopped being a mother. She utterly exhausted herself, her resources and everything she had to make sure that we somehow had a better life. Anything that I might know about love, grace, kindness, sacrifice and service - or anything else virtuous - I observed and learned it first from her. She reminds me to some degree of ("it's someone ye'll have never heard of") Sarah Smith in C.S. Lewis' book: The Great Divorce associated with the "Tragedian," (Chapter 12) and I rejoice mightily at the wonderful thought of her new found restoration and glorification... And I look eagerly forward to our eventual reunion in the next life... only there... she will still be The STRONGER and I will still be WEAKER, because in her quiet legacy, she will have done more with her life than I did with mine.