Two Months

Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of dead?  If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and our faith has been in vain.

I Corinthians 14:12—14

Today, June 10, 2009, marks two months since my mother’s death.  Obviously today was a difficult day.  It was made even more difficult by the fact that I received a confirmation letter today that my ministry is being discontinued effective the 16th of June.  The sense of loss is overwhelming. 

There are other issues.  One of my sisters has stopped talking to me—for what reason, I don’t know.  I have called her several times but she doesn’t return the calls.  I know she is grieving, but so are all of us.  The reason for her silence is somewhat baffling.  I try not to dwell on it, but it is difficult, especially on days like today.

I found another Emily Dickinson poem that I’m including here.  It’s from a collection entitled Time and Eternity.  The poem is “The Last Night that She Lived”

The last night that she lived,
It was a common night,
Except the dying; this to us
Made Nature different

We noticed smallest things,--
Things overlooked before,
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized, as t’were.

That others could exist
While she must finish quite,
A jealousy for her arose
So nearly infinite.

We waited while she passed;
It was a narrow time,
Too jostled were our souls to speak,
At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot;
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, shivered, scarce,
Consented, and was dead.

And we, we placed the hair,
And drew the head erect;
And then an awful leisure was,
Our faith to regulate.

Blessed Memory

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.

I Thessalonians 4:13-14

Last Monday, May 18, I visited the cemetery for the first time since my Mother's funeral. I was on vacation, on my way to Illinois, but I wanted to spend some time visiting with Mom. It was a warm, sunny morning, quite a contrast from the rainy day when we buried her. My wife, Linda, and I spent some time admiring the breathtaking scenery. Mom is buried in a section called the Garden of Serenity, which is a very appropriate name for this section. It is toward to rear of the cemetery, away from the highway traffic. The grass is a lush green, and there are plenty of trees in the background. The area must have been a farm at one time, nonetheless, it is very tranquil and lends itself to having a conversation with a dear, departed loved one.

I happened to have in my glove compartment, several ceramic "coquís" which I had bought as souvenirs when we vacationed in Puerto Rico back in 2007. The coquí is a frog that is unique to Puerto Rico and not found anywhere else. I took two of them and placed them in the area where the headstone will eventually be, next to a plant my sisters had planted on Mother's Day.

It was a pleasant visit. I felt at ease in the presence of the freshly covered grave. The rich, brown dirt made it easy to distinguish, almost making me hope the grass never grows over, so as to keep its distinctiveness. Mom always liked to stand out, to be the center of attention. At this point in this area, she is. It is still so hard to imagine her not being around.

Numbness

So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.

John 16:22 (NRSV)

Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t bring myself about to write something on Mother’s Day, which was yesterday, May 10th. It was not only the first Mother’s Day without my mother, but it was also exactly one-month to the day that she died.

Surprisingly, I was pretty composed throughout my two worship services. Only once, when a parishioner who hadn’t seen me since the death approached me to express his condolences, did I come close to crying or being overcome by sadness. I did mention to the congregation that it had been one-month at the time that I wished them a Happy Mother’s Day.

The English congregation which I served yesterday, First Lutheran Church, had a breakfast for mothers before their service; while La Trinidad, my parish, had a luncheon after our worship. So I was bookended by reminders of celebrations I will no longer share with my own mother.
Years ago we used to take Mom out to dinner on this day. Eventually she became weary of the ritual and insisted on cooking for us, something which I considered ridiculous. A couple of times after I began my ministry and could no longer join them for dinner, she came to church to worship with us. It was as much a joy for me to have her see me in action, as it was a source of pride for her. I remember specifically three years ago that she met some of my parishioners for the first time and they were enthralled with her. Recently that couple returned after a long absence and almost immediately they asked about Mom. It was on Palm Sunday and I had to share with them the unfortunate news that she was in the last stages of life. They were deeply grieved to hear the information.

Two of my sisters went to visit the gravesite yesterday and spent some time talking to her and praying over her. My plan is to go next Sunday after I finish with my pastoral duties.
I guess numbness is the only way I can describe the way I feel at this time. It’s as if I’m merely going through the motions and barely getting things done. This is probably a dangerous admission to make for someone in my position, but there is no sense of enthusiasm, no feeling of enjoyment. My hope is to recapture that at some point, but when?

I close with a poem by César Vallejo, a peruvian poet, which somewhat approaches what I am feeling at this time. I found the English translation so I will publish both it and the Spanish.

Los heraldos negros

por César Vallejo.

Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes ... ¡Yo no sé!

Golpes como del odio de Dios; como si ante ellos,

la resaca de todo lo sufridose

empozara en el alma... Yo no sé!

Son pocos; pero son... Abren zanjas obscuras

en el rostro más fiero y en el lomo más fuerte.

Serán talvez los potros de bárbaros atilas;

o los heraldos negros que nos manda la Muerte.

Son las caídas hondas de los Cristos del alma,

de alguna fe adorable que el Destino blasfema.

Esos golpes sangrientos son las crepitaciones

de algún pan que en la puerta del horno se nos quema.

Y el hombre... Pobre... pobre! Vuelve los ojos, como

cuando por sobre el hombro nos llama una palmada;

vuelve los ojos locos, y todo lo vivido

se empoza, como charco de culpa, en la mirada.

Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes... Yo no sé!

Black Messengers

There are in life such hard blows . . . I don't know!

Blows seemingly from God's wrath; as if before them

the undertow of all our sufferings

is embedded in our souls . . . I don't know!

There are few; but are . . . opening dark furrows

in the fiercest of faces and the strongest of loins,

They are perhaps the colts of barbaric Attilas

or the dark heralds Death sends us.

They are the deep falls of the Christ of the soul,

of some adorable one that Destiny Blasphemes.

Those bloody blows are the crepitation

of some bread getting burned on us by the oven's door

And the man . . . poor . . . poor! He turns his eyes around, like

when patting calls us upon our shoulder;

he turns his crazed maddened eyes,

and all of life's experiences become stagnant, like a puddle of guilt, in a daze.

There are in life such hard blows . . . I don't know!

Wallowing

When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.

Luke 4:13 (NRSV)

I had a bad day last Friday--the three week mark of my mother's death. What surprised me was the suddenness and the force with which the sadness hit me. It was totally unexpected. I imagine myself as someone who is equipped to deal with these bouts of grief, given how frequently others share their grief with me. I have been trained to look for signs and indications of how others are coping and how they're progressing. But none of this training was focused on myself, or perhaps I didn't pay attention in class the day that was covered. In view of that experience, I am now at least aware that I will again experience that "dark night of the soul" at some point in the future. It will be interesting to see how I deal with it.

Anyway, I came upon this poem by one of my favorite poets, Emily Dickinson, which captures somewhat the way I have become observant of grief, both my own and others.

I measure every grief...

I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled--
Some thousands--on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.

The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,--
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.

There's grief of want, and grief of cold,--
A sort they call 'despair,'
There's banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.

- Emily Dickinson

I miss you, Mom.

Marking Time

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.

Revelation 21:4

It will be three weeks tomorrow that my mother died. It seems so long ago and yet the memory is still raw. I am still receiving cards, e-mails and telephone calls that serve as a constant reminder that she is gone. Yet, I continue to speak of her in the present tense.

We are going through an exchange of e-mails with the gravestone designer, who can't quite seem to grasp the concept of the design we want.

The funeral, by the way, was wonderful, as far as funerals go. We were overwhelmed by the number of people that came to calling hours at the funeral home and the funeral itself. There were people I never expected to see and from quite a distance. It was a tremendous source of comfort for my sisters and me. The words, "thank you," don't seem adequate enough to express our appreciation for the support.

There are still some challenging moments ahead. Mother's Day is coming up soon, followed by the year-long numbers of first holidays without her. That's where I find this blog helpful.

I hope, over the course of time, to share special stories. Stories that I remember, stories that people shared with me, and stories that reflect the unique relationship that Mom had with each and every person she met. Yes, she will become greater in death than she was in life. It won't be necessary to exaggerate or embellish things because in every case, the stories that will appear here will be true. She was a memorable individual!

EL CORAZÓN DE UNA MADRE - THE HEART OF A MOTHER

This is the tribute that I read at Mom's funeral. It is entitled, "The Heart of a Mother." At some later date I may translate it, but for now, I will leave it in Spanish. I would love to attribute the source, but I don't know who it is. I found it on the internet and made just a couple really minor modifications, but it is NOT my own work.

El Corazón de una Madre

Cuando el Señor hizo a la mujer, era su sexto día de trabajo, haciendo horas extras. Un Ángel apareció y trató de detener al Señor. "Esto es demasiado trabajo para un solo día, mejor espera hasta mañana para terminar".

"Pero no puedo", protestó el Señor. Estoy tan cerca de terminar esta creación por lo que está muy cerca de mi corazón. El Ángel se acercó y tocó a la mujer. “Pero la has hecho tan suave, Señor”

“Ella es suave,” asintió el Señor, “pero también la hice fuerte. No tienes ni idea de lo que puede resistir o lograr.”El Ángel notó algo y se estiró y tocó la mejilla de la mujer. “Oh, parece que este modelo tiene una falla.”

“Esa no es una falla,” respondió el Señor. “Eso es una lágrima.”

“¿Y para qué son las lágrimas,” preguntó el Ángel? El Señor dijo, “La lágrima es la forma en que ella expresa su alegría, su pena, su desilusión, su soledad, su dolor y su orgullo.”

El Ángel estaba impresionado. “¡Eres un genio, Señor! ¡¡Pensaste en todo ya que las mujeres son en verdad asombrosas!!” Las madres tienen fuerzas que asombran a los hombres. Llevan a los hijos, sobrellevan dificultades, llevan pesadas cargas pero se aferran a la felicidad, amor y alegría. Sonríen cuando quieren gritar. Cantan cuando quieren llorar. Lloran cuando están felices y ríen cuando están nerviosas. Pelean por lo que creen. Se sublevan contra la injusticia. No aceptan un “no” por respuesta cuando creen que existe una solución mejor. No se compran zapatos nuevos pero a sus hijos sí...Acompañan al médico a un amigo asustado. Aman incondicionalmente. Lloran cuando sus hijos sobresalen y ovacionan a sus amigos cuando triunfan. Se les rompe el corazón cuando un amigo muere. Sufren cuando pierden a algún miembro de la familia pero son fuertes cuando no hay de donde más sacar fuerzas. Saben que un abrazo y un beso puede sanar un corazón roto. Las madres vienen en todos los tamaños, colores y formas. Manejan, vuelan, caminan o te mandan e-mails para decirte cuánto te quieren. El corazón de las madres es lo que hace el mundo girar!
Las madres hacen más que dar a luz. Ellas traen alegría y esperanza; compasión e ideales. Sí, el corazón de la madre es asombroso! ¡Bendito sea Dios por darnos a todos una MADRE!
¡GRACIA MAMI!

When Great Trees Fall

My wife, Linda, read the following poem by Maya Angelou at my mother's funeral. It was so fitting and so characteristic of my mother that I want to share it with everyone. This poem appears on other blogs, affirming its universality as well as its particularity.


When Great Trees Fall
by Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down in tall grasses,
and even elephants slumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory,
suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always irregularly.
Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

Oh My Goodness!--What an Amazing Woman

The following is the eulogy written and delivered by my niece, Yolanda Patterson, at my mother's funeral on Wednesday, April 15, 2009, in Columbus, Ohio. Those who knew her would agree that the remarks capture the essence of who Mom was...

OH MY GOODNESS…WHAT AN AMAZING WOMAN

“OH MY GOOOODNESS,” the very words “Abuela” said whenever she was in utter amazement. Also the very words that are used as we hear about her AWESOME LIFE!!!

To start, she was married at the young, tender age of 17 and widowed at age 35. With four children to raise and recently moving to the USA only four years prior to being widowed, she overcame many obstacles. “Mami,” as her children called her, never worked a day in her life as a married woman. When she was forced to work for the first time, she did whatever she had to do to care for her children like any good mother would. However, she did this while being faced with the additional obstacles of learning the English language, racism and learning to be a single parent. But in spite of it all, she did it. “OH MY GOODNESS!!!”

“Mama Lucy,” as many new her, welcomed just about everyone into her home (unless she simply didn’t like you). And everyone she welcomed in, she made sure to feed. In fact it was almost a sin if you even thought about not eating at her house. You actually felt obligated to eat because she would go through all the trouble of cooking while waking with a walker. Then she would sit and watch you eat; smiling and shaking her head in an up and down motion as if to say, “I’m proud of you” while you ate, not saying a word. “OH MY GOODNESS” that woman was funny.

What about when she got frustrated. She would call off most if not all of her kid’s and grandkid’s names before she got to the correct person she wanted to fuss at. And then got even more frustrated with herself because she couldn’t get the correct name right away due to her excitement. “OH MY GOODNESS…”

How about the fact that she was hit by a bus as she crossed the street and survived! That’s enough to make anyone say, “OH MY GOODNESS!” Or how about when she would whisper as she told you a secret over the phone and there was no one around her to hear her.

What an AMAZING WOMAN!!! She’s taught the family so many lessons such as; to value family and life-she was happy as she wanted to be when her family was around and she lived her life to the fullest. She was always ready to party, dance, sing and play cards and of course bingo. Nothing stopped her from living life; not work, sleep, sickness, infection, ABSOLUTELEY NOTHING! She made enjoying life her priority and business would get taken care of soon enough.

Oh, and you can’t forget how emotional “Grandma” was. It didn’t take much for “Ms. Lucy” to cry. She definitely taught the family how to cry. It’s so easy for us all to cry that we actually laugh when we cry because we remind ourselves of “Grandma.”

Finally, out of all days to close the chapter of life on earth, it was closed on Good Friday; the very day Jesus’ suffering ended on the cross as He gave up His spirit! OH MY GOODNESS!!!

Entering heaven, eyes wide open, mouth formed in an “O,” looking around at the other angels who preceded her, in amazement as if they had just saw the pearly gates and golden streets for the first time; saying, “OH MY GOODNESS…” as if to say, “Can you believe this?” She is probably saying,
“I should to come here sooner,” with that beautiful accent of hers followed by her famous words,

“Sank you Jesus; Sank you Lord.”

"It is finished"

When he had received the drink, Jesus said, "It is finished." With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. John 19:30 (NIV)

This verse kept resonating with me during Holy Week while my mother was dying. The words of Jesus as he hung on the cross were never more meaningful.

Mom died on Good Friday shortly before 9 p.m.

Earlier in the day, sometime after noon, I received a call from my sister that the hospice nurse had called and said that Mom was in "terminal anxiety" and that we should gather the family because it could be hours or maybe a day. I was committed to leading a Good Friday worship service that evening at 7:30 p.m. at Bethel Lutheran Church. Even though I agonized about it, I decided to go ahead and lead the worship.

My wife and I left immediately after the end of the worship at around 8:45 p.m. for the two-hour drive to Columbus. Shortly after nine p.m. I received another call, this one from my niece, that Mom was gone. Fortunately, the hospital said that they would wait until I arrived and would allow me time with the body before the funeral home would be notified.

I wasn't prepared for the breakdown I had when I saw the lifeless body of my mother lying in the hospital bed at Riverside Hospital. The strength that had sustained me during this ordeal abandoned me at that moment and I cried like a baby. Though I had told myself I had no regrets, I longed desperately to talk to her one more time. I touched her cheeks and embraced her innocent-looking face as the tears gushed and my heart broke. The thought of her not being with us anymore was just too much to take. It is a feeling I don't think I'll ever experience ever again.

We have not had a major loss in our family for decades. My father died more than 50 years ago and we've lost grandparents, uncles and aunts--but never anyone this close in many years. It has been ten days since her death, but the haunting memory of that scene in the hospital room is as vivid as if it were today.

Wednesday of Holy Week

"I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live."

John 11:25

This blog is written in honor, and soon to be in memory, of my mother, Luz María Allende, who is in hospice care at Riverside Methodist Hospital in Columbus, Ohio. My family has been struggling with the acceptance of her impending death. I feel I am entering into it with some measure of calmness because of my faith. I believe in the resurrection, as we confess weekly in worship, but that doesn't fill the void that I'm sure I will feel once she is gone.

Today is Wednesday. I have services on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. I begged off Easter Vigil, which is being done jointly with three other congregations, so that I could spend Saturday at the hospital. We don't know how much time we have and I feel I need to be there with her. Even though she can't talk and is asleep more often than she's awake, she is conscious of the people around her. I only pray that I don't receive one of those dreaded telephone calls late at night that can only mean one thing.