Today I find myself with a longing that I cannot suppress
and which almost brings me pain on Mother’s Day. My Mother’s Day wish—my daily
wish—is for redemption and restoration. You see, my mother has dementia. She
was diagnosed six years ago, and since then my siblings and I have seen her
brain deteriorate to the point where she does not recognize me at all. I have
not blogged about this because I do not know the right words to address it, and
I would rather not submit my readers to my feeble attempts. Many of you know
what is going on, and for those who did not before now, I apologize for not
filling in this part of my life. It is difficult to process, difficult to
discuss, difficult to know how to answer when someone says “and how are you
handling [the fact that your mom doesn’t know you/is in a nursing home/has
dementia]?” Oftentimes I am matter-of-fact to a fault—I can always tell by the
stunned look on the hearer’s face. Other times the words get stuck in my throat
and lodge there like a big lump I can’t work around, and if I say anything I
will just burst with emotion.
Mother’s Day tends to get stuck in my throat. Last year was
particularly hard. Fuller was two weeks old and I was in the glorious throes of
postpartum hormones. It was also our first Sunday back at church. I remember
being in a cozy little room, checking Facebook on my phone while I nursed my
son. It seemed that everyone’s Facebook profile pictures was with their mom. Everyone
was writing tributes about how wonderful their mom is (or was, if she was
deceased). Mother’s Day got stuck in my throat and I thought I was going to
drown. My mother deserves all the tributes in the world, but it was and still
is hard for me to type them. That is my fault, not hers. Linda Phillips is no
less worthy of praise because I cannot broadcast those words on Facebook. And she
is no less worthy of praise because she sits in a nursing home without speaking
and does not recognize her oldest daughter or many others. She is a marvelous
woman, a child of God, and my beloved mother.
My mother’s dementia strikes home in different ways and at
different times, but on Mother’s Day (last year, this year, every year), I rejoice
even more in redemption, and long still more for restoration.
Redemption—God saved me. He used my family, my mother and
my father, to teach me his word, to
point me to the cross, and to walk with me along the journey of my spiritual
life. He saved my mother. She is a blood bought saint of the Lord, even when
she doesn’t remember it. I rejoice in her redemption. I praise the Lord that He
has been faithful to sustain my mother, to protect and keep her, and I trust
that she is resting in Christ even when her memory faculties are failing.
Restoration—One day all things will be made new. My mother’s
body and mind will be restored, not only in heaven when she meets Jesus, but in
the new heavens and new earth when the mind that has been corrupted and the
body that is failing are repaired and restored and reconciled to their maker.
Sin and disease destroy this world, and attempt to turn our affections away
from Christ and the cross. As believers, we are still awaiting our final
reconciliation and restoration.
Today, on Mother’s Day, and every day, I pray that I will rejoice
more in my redemption—what Christ has done for me through his death on the
cross. I pray that I will seek to see more family and friends and neighbors and
nations come to faith in Christ. And I long for the day when all things will be
made new through Jesus Christ. He is our hope and our reason for living.
Me with my mom, Linda, in July 2013
Happy Mother's Day
