I am an Episcopalian, and Episcopalians often give up something for Lent or take something on as a daily discipline. This might include abstaining from alcohol or desserts or taking on a new prayer practice. However, this year my Lenten discipline is saying goodbye to my mother.
About 18 months ago my mother had a stroke. Nana, her “grandmother name,” was already in poor health and confined to a wheelchair, but the stroke necessitated a move for both of my parents to an assisted living facility. Nana, who turned 90 last August, continued to decline after the stroke, became bedridden, and hospice was called in around Thanksgiving. Mercifully, she departed this life on January 12.
During the past 18 months, I have flown from my home (Dallas, Texas) to my parents’ home (Memphis, Tennessee) so many times that after one medical crisis I couldn’t remember which way I was flying while I was actually on the plane. Anyone who has cared for a sick loved one knows the tremendous physical, emotional, and spiritual toll it takes on caregivers. On Ash Wednesday I heartily agree that I am dust and to dust I shall return. But it was difficult to understand why my elderly and infirm mother kept hanging on. I prayed every day that she would die and go mercifully into the arms of Jesus. Her dying was painfully slow and I questioned how God could let her linger. Still, when death finally came, I couldn’t believe how teary I became. As my brother says, “Our mommy died,” which of course is true, even though we are both in our 60s.
There have been so many things to be thankful for during this difficult journey. My parents’ Baptist church has truly been a spiritual home to them, their pastor has been attentive and responsive, my brother and I have not had one disagreement or unkind word between us, the hospice nurses and aides have been wonderful, Nana’s friend Barbara came to sit with her every day, and our Christian hope of eternal life in God’s loving arms has been reassuring and real.
Still, saying goodbye to my mother is complicated. During my 60 plus years with her, she has been difficult at times and loving at others. Nana was imperfect, as was I, and sometimes those flawed worlds collided. But the memories that are precious include her teaching me “Silent Night” and “Away in a Manger,” and never letting a day go by without kissing and hugging me and telling me how much she loved me. I guess part of the grief includes mourning the difficulties as well as the joys, and knowing that even those we love the most come to us as mixed bags.
Losing a parent also brings crashing home one’s own mortality. It doesn’t seem possible that my two little boys are both grown men, and I am now “Grammy” to the next generation. My husband and I are thinking of downsizing and what retirement will look like for us. I am trying to stop accumulating so my children won’t have so much to purge when I die. And I talk often with God about how I want the last part of my life on earth look.
Lent is a season of conversion. For me, the conversion involves letting go as I say goodbye to Nana. Thank you for your love and care and for being a wonderful grandmother. You believed for me when I was too young to believe for myself, and now I have a relationship with God all my own. I am grateful for this and so many other things. “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us” (Heb. 12:1).
Marcia Hotchkiss is a spiritual director, retreat leader, and cofounder of The Abbey on Lovers Lane (abbeyonlovers.org). Marcia recently coauthored Hope-Peace-Love-Joy: An Advent Devotional. She is a member of Good Shepherd Episcopal Church in Dallas.
