Letting Go of Guilt

I sat on the side of the bed with my mother as she folded the last things to put into her suitcase. She could barely hold back the tears. I knew she didn’t want to leave, but what choice did I have? A job change was making it necessary for my husband and me to move to a new town. We had already purchased a new home there and our current house was for sale. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Mom to be alone with strangers coming in and out at odd times. My emotions were a tangled mess. Hurting to see her pain yet excited about ‘getting my life back’.

Mom had spent the previous eight months with us while my brother recovered from a serious construction accident. Although she had her own apartment and had been living independently, she was not able to drive herself to the doctor, grocery, etc. During her time with us, there had been signs of increasing forgetfulness and confusion. Signs I chose to ignore for fear it would mean she would have to stay with me.

I dearly loved my mother. It’s just that I didn’t like living with her. In fact, during those eight months there were times I thought I would lose my mind.

So now, here we were. As she recalled all the things she would miss about being with us, I simply sat there saying, “I know. I know. But we have to get the house sold and get this move behind us.”

I could have stopped her pain with a few words…all I had to do was to tell her she could stay. I didn’t and the guilt began.

Shortly after she returned to her apartment in W. Va. It was evident she could not live alone. My brother found an excellent caretaker with whom she could live. I let him take care of all the arrangements, guilt continuing to gnaw at me. When I visited, there were times when she seemed happy, others she spent accusing her caretaker of being mean. I always came away feeling even guiltier. Even though we had been given the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, that only explained her behavior. It did nothing to alleviate my thoughts of how I had abandoned her.

My mother passed away in September 1999. After the funeral my brother and I picked up the few possessions she had remaining at her caretaker’s home. On top of the box was a painting my husband had given her during the time she stayed with us. Beverly, her caretaker, told us there were times she would find Mom sitting on her bed with the painting in her lap, gazing at it and talking to herself. My heart broke again.

During those last years of Mom’s illness, I told myself over and over that I should be a better daughter. I should quit my job and bring her to live with me. Deep down I knew I couldn’t handle it but that didn’t stop the guilt. After she was gone, my guilt was as painful as the loss. I wondered if she knew how much I really loved her. Did she forgive me for making her leave my home? Would God forgive me for being so selfish to the one person in this world who loved me unconditionally?

I wish I could say that I found forgiveness and peace right away, but that would be a lie. I know that God has forgiven me for things I’ve done wrong and for things left undone that I should have done. What has taken much longer is finding a way to forgive myself. Only because of His unconditional love, His mercy and grace am I able to do that.

It still hurts to think about it. I still cry when I think about her last night in my home. But I know from my own heart as a mother that if she was able to speak to me right now from her home in heaven, she would say, “I love you. I forgive you. I’ll see you when you come home.” That is exactly what my Heavenly Father says.

One glorious day that will become a reality when I step into Heaven. Until then, I focus on the good memories of my mother and our life together.

Hopes and Dreams Misunderstood

Hope is birthed in a mother’s heart at the same time a child is conceived in her womb. Hope for a future filled with happiness, love, and success. Many times it is hope for a better life for her child than what she experienced growing up. Her hope is rooted in good intentions. However, it is not always revealed in ways that support it.

Dreams, on the other hand, can’t be tied to a time schedule. They sprout in our hearts at different times in our lives. Little girls seem to naturally dream about one day being a bride but other dreams are specific to the individual, her personality, gifts and talents. Some dreams are so fragile that we fear speaking of them, afraid someone’s negative opinion will somehow steal our dream and with it, our future happiness.

In her Marta’s Legacy series, Francine Rivers skillfully weaves the story of five generations of women and how misunderstood hopes and dreams create a wall between mothers and daughters. I easily identified with the characters, understanding the mothers’ love but not the way they displayed it. I found myself relating to the daughters’ pain as they felt rejected and unloved. I ‘watched’ as the wall grew thicker and higher when a daughter appeared to love her grandmother more than she did her mother. At times, I felt like a therapist listening to two sides of a broken relationship. I wanted to yell out at them, “Talk to each other! Tell what you are really feeling! Stop ignoring the problem and get it out in the open!”

Francine has a knack of creating fiction that mimics life and she has once again excelled with “Her Mother’s Hope” and “Her Daughter’s Dream.” It made me stop and think about my own relationship with my mother. Though she has been gone now for over eleven years, I still miss her. I loved her dearly and still do.

But I know our relationship had its own walls created by misunderstanding and communication differences. I now wonder what her unspoken hopes for me were and how that affected the way she parented. I wonder how my responses impacted her. Did she feel rejected or devalued? Or did she know how much I loved and respected her? Although we did not always agree or have the same outlook on life, I always knew her love was unconditional and sacrificial. She lived it out loud every day in her actions.

I wish I could tell her.

But I can’t.

However, I can live the remainder of my life making sure I tell those I love how I really feel about them. I believe I need to talk to my adult sons about their childhood, making sure I don’t leave even a remnant of a wall between us. Changing misunderstanding to understanding. Paving the way for future generations of parents and children to be more open in their relationships. Granted, there will always be somewhat of a communication gap between generations. It is part of our genetic makeup. But too many hopes and dreams are never realized because of simply misunderstanding one another.

Will you join me in tearing down some walls?

Hugs,
Molly

P.S. By the way, I highly recommend you read these books!