Sacrifice

Last night marked another Fat Tuesday. For some, it's the final day of Mardi Gras, a chance to dine on pancakes, or the beginning of the Lenten Season. For me, Fat Tuesday will forever mark the day I lost my Mom. She died, cradled with love at 11:45pm on Fat Tuesday. One moment here, the next spiritless, free from the body that caged her.

I remember asking her hours before she died to pucker up so that I could kiss her. It took all of her might to contradict the loss of strength and the morphine, but the lips pursed and we had that moment as daughter and mother, as closest of friends, as fellow gardeners, as kitchen mates, as fellow teacher and student, as troublemakers, as Florence and Jennifer. She wasn't afraid to die. She just didn't want to leave us in the process.


I dreaded the night with its depth and darkness, and the sleep that would pull me unconsciously into another world. Because night eventually awakens into day. And sunlight would not bring hope, but would confirm that the world spins madly without her.  My heart grew that night, burst, and then flooded my body with grief.


I remember someone asking me days later, "what did you give up for Lent?" And casually I turned around and said, "I gave up my Mom, and you?" Did I intend to unnerve the person & rob them of words?  No. But I could not lie or deny my heart. I felt that for the first time in my life I understood the gravity and the sacrifice of Lent.  I understood the gravity of God's sacrifice.  The aptitude of love.  The meaning of suffering and of growth.



And now as a parent myself, I understand the depth of the love for a child. It's a powerful and larger than yourself. And I think of my mom. I realize that naturally she loved us a million times more than we loved her.  

You can't understand the breadth of it until you stand in those shoes as a parent. And I wear those shoes proudly. And I am so grateful.