As some of you know, several weeks ago I experienced my first "first". Mom's birthday. And yes, I will admit I approached that day with a lot of trepidation. And why? Mostly because of fear....
Fear...a word I seldom use... Fear...an emotion I'm not quite used to.
Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I haven't feared things before....I have. But you see, somewhere along the line this disease has changed me. It's made me stronger. Anymore, I tend to be the type of person who leans towards confronting something...rather than fearing it. So how could I be afraid? What was to fear...and more importantly...what did I fear most? I began to wonder about that....
Was it because I feared the day would be to excruciatingly painful to bear?... or was it that I feared I had never really accepted her death...that I would wake up that day and realize she was well and truly gone? Or could it be I was afraid I would get caught up in the web of ... "should have dones", "could have dones"..."why didn't I's"....
So there I was, waking up each day knowing her birthday was growing closer and still not knowing why I felt the way I did. Over and over I would go through my list...was it that I hadn't accepted her death? No, I really didn't think that was it. Was it fear of pain? Truthfully, what day doesn't go by when we don't feel pain? A caregivers life is always filled with heartache...so pain I can deal with? So...what WAS it? What was I hiding from myself that I didn't want to confront?
Would you believe...regret? How simple, yet how complexed. One small word disguised as something else. All that time I wanted to run away from that day because I had one regret and it revolved around her birthday. The one regret because I would never be able to give her "the best birthday present ever..."
That's an interesting emotion to feel, isn't it? Regret over a simple thing like a gift? But then, I'm seeing it from my heart...I'm seeing it as her child. And truly, what child doesn't want to please her mom? What child doesn't want to feel like she's given her the world when she sees her smile? That's the unique ability of a mom. Making her child feel as if she's given her the most precious of things with just a touch, just a smile, just a hug....
Yet, what do you do when an illness takes her away? What do you do when nothing seems to "fit"? Well, if you're like me, you tell yourself that next year you'll find the perfect present. That special 'something' that somehow penetrates the shield of Alzheimer's to make her sparkle again...
But here I was, knowing there would be no 'next year'. Time had run out and with it, my chance to get it right. So that's what I regretted...I had all those chances but I never found that elusive..."it's the one thing I wanted most"...
Or did I?.....
You see, all that time when I was struggling to make sense of things, the one thing I failed to think about was moms point of view. All I could see was MY side...MY emotions...MY turmoil...and that prevented me from seeing the truth...
What IS the truth? This year I DID give her the 'best gift ever' because she was granted freedom. My heavens...how could I have overlooked something so important? How could I have failed to see in all those years, in all those gifts, the reason why they never 'fit' was because it wasn't what she wanted most.
And now she had it...freedom to spend her birthday with Dad and Dan and baby George. Freedom to walk in the brightness of heaven and gaze down upon a daughter who'd somehow overlooked that miraculous gift.
I ask you...how could I have mistook something as beautiful as freedom for something left unfinished? Unfinished? Hardly! Death is not the end of life, but rather a new beginning. And death can be the greatest gift of all, if only we look at it from a different perspective.
I honestly don't know how long it would have taken me to figure this out, were it not for the help of an angel. You see, on the very week of moms birthday I received a package...and in that package was a priceless gift. It was a quote sent from a daughter who shares a special bond...
"How
does on become a butterfly" she asked pensively
"You must want to fly so much you are willing
to give up being a caterpillar."
"You mean die?"
"Yes and no, he answered.
What looks like you will die,
but what's really you will live"
From Hope For The Flowers
See what I mean? Sometimes what looks like death, is really a new beginning. And with that beginning comes the greatest gift...ever...
(c) Marsha Penington 2000