How are you doing with your New Year’s resolutions? Perhaps you’ve achieved some, but haven’t found the satisfaction you expected. Like the child on Christmas afternoon, he bursts into anger over some small thing, bewildered by the disappointment the eagerly awaited day has produced. Goals are good things. Trying is important. But nothing really, completely satisfies.
In a few days, I will mark six months since I walked with my mother to the door of death. And the strange heaviness, though not my constant companion as it was the first months, has still attacked me at random moments – entering the grocery store and seeing something I should buy for her – opening my cabinet and finding her measuring cup – planning a day trip and wondering if she’d enjoy the ride – hearing something delightful from a grandchild and anticipating sharing it with her.
A few nights ago I had a dream. Occasionally I have dreams that are vivid, clear and more real than being awake. This was one of those.
I was standing by a large body of water and called out, “Who wants to hear what I’ve been writing?” My mother swam towards me and climbed out of the water, full of life as she was the last time we played in the Gulf of Mexico in Pensacola Beach. She wave and replied, “I want to hear it, Janie-girl!” and climbed out.
As she drew closer, she grew weaker, and by the time I helped her onto a lounge chair she had shriveled into an invalid. I covered her with thick blankets to quell her shaking. Between chattering teeth, she encouraged me to begin reading Listen the Wind, the historical novel I am putting the finishing touches on, and she had edited for grammar and spelling errors when her mind was still sharp. As I started to read, we were on higher ground, looking out over the water, and she was in a hospital bed, growing weaker.
A sweet, clueless nurse, brought her food. Mom shook her head and turned toward the water and the bright sun as it moved toward the horizon. The nurse kept offering smaller bits, encouraging Mom to eat and gain her strength.
When the smallest piece, a little brown biscuit was offered, Mom pushed it away and whispered to me, “Don’t you see what really matters?”
Then I saw what she was so concentrated on in the splendor of the sun glowing over the water,
calling her to eternity.
And she was gone.
I awoke in the early morning light, tears streaming down my face, with profound peace. I knew that my mother, who most of my life hadn’t understood me (we were very different personalities) deeply loved me and valued my writing.
In my dream, I felt as if she had shared a measure of eternity with me, to encourage me in my journey.
The sense of eternity stayed with me, carried me through the day.
I no longer wish I had another chance to hug her or bring her ice cream or talk with her. She has reached her goal —
the goal we are all yearning for, whether we know it or not.
We all have eternity etched in our hearts.
So, if you don’t achieve all your goals, or complete what you have planned, or even if you do, and it doesn’t satisfy, you can rest assured that it was meant to be.
You were created for so much more.
Let’s chat:
Have you had an experience that gave you a larger perspective on your life?
What would encourage you right now?
Glimpse of Peace 
Jane, I read this and thought of the feelings that flooded my heart when my father suffered his stroke. I wasn’t ready for him to go. I’m still not. I know that his day is coming, as mine is, but I hope that when it does, I’ll be able to let him go knowing he reached the end of his earthy path.
I will say a prayer for your mother this evening…for her place and space in your heart. And for your place and space in hers.
With sight & heart,
Dani
P.S. When will “Listen the Wind” be finished??
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Hi Dani, I don’t think you will ever be ready. I thought I would, since Mom had dementia and really hated her life the last year, and was in pain at the end. I was broadsided by the power of the grief, the vacancy in my life, and the ache at the loss of that connection. Thank you for your prayers. How is your father doing now?
I’m editing LTW, one last time, then will send it to a professional editor. It is hard for me to say it’s good enough, and my critique partner wants me to shorten the ending…so, we’ll see.
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Jane, I have lurked long enough. You may not be able to tell from my blog, but I am shy…until I am not.
So you end with Qs…so simple. So profound. Each one of them. The first of them…well, sometime I will write you off line, as spiritual experiences are a bit like underwear. Profoundly necessary but not necessarily essential, and extremely personal and rarely to be shared beyond the appropriate time and place, sometimes utilitarian for function and sometimes exquisite for the beyond from which they come and to which they draw us.
As to the second, well that one is easy to answer now…after Dani’s post, simply being able to talk to my children, tell them that I am not dead but profoundly and finally alive, and that I love them beyond the power of every writer in every place in every era of every epoch to put to pen.
Looking forward to walking out of the shadows of your blog, though they are quite beautiful and actually define the rest…
Charissa Grace, your admirer
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charissagrace, it is nice to finally talk, “face to face.” I’ve loved your words on every comment on Dani’s blog, and look forward to your responses to my questions. Like you, I am shy until I am not. My husband refuses to believe I was the wall flower I tell him, and still doesn’t understand what being out in public costs me emotionally — and how much it costs me to go pubic here. But, we find there is a time to share, isn’t that right? Because we need each other. No human being was meant to go it alone. We were created for so much more.
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Being out in public…emotional costs…oh yes, Jane. Oh yes indeed.
However…here in the WordPress pews I have found some friends, and happy to begin that walk with you.
After all, we have the same Mama! ❤
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So poignantly beautiful … thanks for sharing, Jane.
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Thanks for reading, Steve. We have an awesome legacy.
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I believe that sometimes our unconscious state, our dreams, are a place where God’s angels can speak more clearly into our being….. What a beautiful encounter with the woman who loved you deeply, but spoke a different language of love.
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Yes, I think our trying so hard can get in the way, and God can speak more clearly to our unconscious mind, so open to our heart.
Thank you, Cindy, for your clarity, that it was the language, not the lack of love that created the empty spaces.
May God bless you as you continue to serve as a bearer of light.
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Beautifully written Janie. Love the old pic of MomMom.
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Thank you. I have a photo somewhere of Mom in the Gulf, but I’d already spent too much time on pictures, so it was time to call it done. I appreciate your reading my blog.
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