Judy George
Little did I know that the day following the January 25-27 “Only for Today” women’s retreat that I would be sitting at my mother’s bedside escorting her into eternity. I want very much to communicate to you how incredibly important the retreat experience became for me during this time.
I kept a journal of sorts during those days relating the retreat to the experiences of January 28 when my mother was rushed unresponsive with virtually no pulse to the hospital to February 2 when she passed away. I’d like to share some thoughts from that time with you.
January 29 – One has to go alone (die) clearly but they do not have to be alone as they go, that’s why I’m here knitting, talking once in awhile but working really hard on being just here just now. I and we will continue this vigil throughout whatever this experience turns out to be. “Only for today, I will adapt to circumstances, without requiring all circumstances to be adapted to my own wishes.”
I’m trying to do now well whatever that means to me in this moment.
People do the best that they can. I am an optimist and know no other way to believe. So I will think about the good things. “I want to be kind, today and always, to everyone.”
My mother taught me to knit. For me knitting has become so much more than a hobby. It foundates my beliefs about spirit and life. The weaving, the texture, the color, the simplicity of two stitches with endless possibilities astounds me continually with life lessons as I work.
January 30 – “It’s not the what of now, it’s the how of now” that keeps me soft, aware of the feelings of others and working hard at inclusion of family members as we make difficult and irreversible decisions.
Consensus as to what next is still forming but in the midst of this very real time of life I am here, now. “The way through it is the way through it.”
January 31 – I wrote my mother’s obituary today. It seems so morbid to be doing this while she’s still alive but this is, no doubt, a one way street and I want to do this well. Almost an afterthought turns out to be what I really wanted to say. “Throughout her life Edna was a voracious reader and until the last few years produced a seemingly endless stream of mittens, sweaters, afghans, oil paintings, watercolors and ceramic pieces.” The meaning for me is that although Mom was unable to engage in words or actions of love and affirmation perhaps her way was to share the products of her creativity.
February 1 – A very hard day. The hospital cannot keep Mom. I broke down and sobbed. The thought of her taking an ambulance ride, the discomfort, the lurching, the cold of the day is just more than I can handle. One of us can go with her and it will be me. I will be present. “Only for today, I will firmly believe, despite appearances, that the good providence of God cares for me as no one else who exists in this world.”
February 2 – My mother died today. My brother, his wife and a priest were with her. As my brother tells it, as the priest’s prayer ended decades of age fell from my mother’s face, her skin glowed and she smiled as if seeing the very one she had waited her entire life to see and then with the final amen, she was gone.
Clearly the story does not end here but suffice it to say that when I registered for the retreat I did so simply because it sounded intriguing, when I attended the retreat I enjoyed it greatly but experienced no great movement or revelation but thanks to the retreat “all things worked together” and I was able to come from a deeply peaceful place to share my mother’s last days. Thank you and may God continue to bless the work of your ministry.
