Goodbye

You might not know this about me, but I am psychic.  Well not really psychic, because I can’t read minds or tell the future or anything, but I do sense things pretty strongly.  For instance, I am sensing the presence of some strong feelings in this room right now.  I’m right, aren’t I?  I feel tears being held back, I hear the laughter of memories, and I taste goodbye on my lips. Sometimes these psychic sensations manifest physically, and I feel sharpness in my gut and in my chest.  Maybe it’s not psychic manifestations at all, maybe it’s gastric, or maybe it’s a little heartache, a small tear, an empty space where something life-giving once resided.

To memorialize my mom, I want to say something that will pull on your senses, that will help you feel who she was, and stir emotions inside of you.  I want to make you laugh through tears, to remind you to never forget, and to ultimately hold on to the person next to you while letting her go.  But I realize that that is not my job to do, it was my mom’s job to make an impression, and by the number of people in this room, I sense that she did.

Mom was a teacher, but I don’t want to talk about her career. In her own words she knew everything and she had some very special lessons for me, as well as Pat and Jen, of course.  She taught me to smile big and laugh loud. She taught me to be responsible and help others.  She taught me that birthday candles are not near as important as the birthday cake, and that when you are sad, go shopping.  She taught me that clothes just look better if you buy them “on sale”, and that having “just a taste” of dessert doesn’t count as actually eating it.  She tried to teach me to sew, which only escalated into a lesson on anger management. But after that, she taught me that the only failure is in not trying. 

She taught me that “because I said so, that’s why” is, in fact, very good logic, and that true friends are there when you need them the most.  She taught me that dishes get cleaner if you wash them while signing and that forgiveness just helps you sleep better.  She taught me that if life gets too hard to stand, then kneel. I wish I could see her now, but I can’t because she also taught me never to look directly into the light.

Mom taught me that if you can’t play it on the piano, then it is not a song.  Piano keys are black and white but when she played them they sounded like a million colors.  I think that without a piano, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.  Growing up, I rarely saw her straight on, only her profile as she concentrated on the music while she played.  Getting her attention away from the piano was hard, and I admit bolting for the door sometimes when I heard her start to play that same song over and over again.  But I loved her playing, and grew up learning that music is what feelings sound like. 

If prayer is when you talk to God, and meditation is when you listen then for my mom, playing the piano was both at the same time. 

I know that mom left behind this minor life for a much grander forever.  I am in a stage of life when I am learning to let go, not because I want to, but because I have to.  My youth, my looks, my car keys, and my mind are frequently MIA.  My mom is gone, and my teenage daughters will leave soon.  Thinking about all of that brings me down, until I realize that I’m trying to hang on to things that never belonged to me in the first place. The truth is that after a while your hands start to cramp and the hanging on hurts.  

So I release my hold, and in the confidence of the firmness of the truth I have based my life on, in the power of the omnipotent God and risen Savior, and in the promise of the presence and comfort of the Holy Spirit, I kneel down and look towards the light.

It is possible to hear the music even when it stops making a sound. I feel a peace I cannot see, and I taste the sweetness of remembering.  My soul vibrates with her presence that runs through me, and I smell the fragrant redemption that is hers.  I love my mom with all of my senses.  It is impossible not to because she made me feel each one of them.