I spent the other night in an ICU room with my mother who appears to have had a stroke. At this point there is no way of knowing how much of her memory and facilities will return. As a minister I have spent countless nights in just such situations with others. In some ways this is very personal, but at the deepest level, I feel surrounded by the memory of those who invited me into their lives and into their deaths. Thanks to their generosity, these evening seems strangely familiar. We all imagine ourselves to be living out a personal story, but in truth we are being swept along by a current we often ignore, the river of life.
I am listening to my mother breathe in between the beeping machines and the chaotic intrusions that constitute modern hospital care. Underneath it all are the eyes that never missed one of my baseball games, nor one school play. Those same eyes are now staring at me as a stranger. The arms that held me so many times are now bruised and strapped to her bed rails so she does not tear out any of her numerous tubes.
As a human I am an orphan tonight, but I feel strangely connected to life, to my mother, and to the two nurses, one kind and one gruff who watch over her tonight.
Sometime in the night, my mind flashed back to boyhood memories of a field that lay just behind our house. I did not know it at the time, but that field became my core metaphor for life. Whereas my Sunday School teachers said to “consider the birds of the air,” meaning that God never gives us more than we can carry, the field taught me that “considering the birds” meant realizing that the bird which today feasts on insects, will someday be a Luby’s Cafeteria for the ants.
The field showed me that everything that is alive today was been born from what had previously died, and what is alive today will someday, through its death, give new life. At our birth we are breathed out of the field, and at our deaths breathed back in. The field taught me that we plants and animals are more like folds on a blanket than separate objects.
So whatever happens on this evening I know my mother is returning to the field, if not this evening, soon. Nor do I feel myself an orphan on the outside of the field watching my mother either get better or worse. What I love is not in peril. Our two breaths, and every other comes from one source.
What is it we are afraid of losing? What is it we love in one another? An immortal soul? A combination of molecules? Or is it the field?
Charged with life even at the edges of death. We are all breathing together.
Thank you, Helen.
Here, there, everywhere, every molecule, every mother, every son. Sending love.
Thanks, Jeane. You know first hand how those things go. I still think about your mom.
My mother has Alzheimers and it’s what’s brought me back to spirituality, but not religion. If there is a soul, it’s not the mind, it’s something far far more mysterious.
Peace be with you and with her and with the love you share and is eternal.
Julie,
Alzheimer’s is really rough. I’m glad you are able to look at it that way.
Jim
Peace Jim.
You too, Tom.
Praying for you and your mother. Prayers for Peace in all things.
Thanks Jan.
Wishing you strength and peace at this time Jim. As I held my Mother’s hand as her time approached, I too felt a flood of memories, as if I was linked to them through her frail hand. I thought of all the times she had held mine, and had comforted me, and told me it would be alright. Now the circle was complete, as we told her to rest, that it was OK to slip away, that thanks to her we and Dad would be alright. There is great power in these moments and great knowledge.
Thank you Steve, that’s a powerful image.
Jim,
God’s grace comes through your words. Prayers are lifted for you and your Mother as your relationship morphs once more
Barbara
Thank you Barbara. And thank you for your and Don’s help with Earl’s funeral.
I fear death because I don’t understand it. I often wonder why it happens. What good can come from losing family and friends? But I know that the universe is a force I will never understand completely. I know there is no one who understands exactly what you are going through, but know you are surrounded by love. And we will all make the journey one day. Back to the perfection of that field.
Katrina,
It is one of humankind’s oldest questions. The earliest writings ever found show an obsession with that question. Thanks for your musing.
Jim
Prayers for you and your Mother. May God’s grace bless and strengthen you. Peace be with you.
Thank you Michele, we’re still waiting to find out what the damage will be. I appreciate the kind thoughts.