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A Mother, A Daughter, A Granddaughter
A mother.
A daughter.
A granddaughter.
A three-stringed cord. And while the cord was frayed and torn; it remained resilient and strong.
I spent the better part of my teens and twenties wishing for a mother who personified June Cleaver rather than real life. I wanted a fantasy family…not a family tormented by alcoholism. But, it isn’t mine to decide the path; I leave that to God. He allows trial in order that our characters may be refined. As I look back on the path already forged…I feel like fine silver.
Ours is a tale of the pitfalls and consequences of a life taken much too soon- at least by our standards.
My grandmother, Pearl watched and waited for years at her front door, the screen door with the fancy letter F scrolled across the middle. She waited for the sober and forgiving homecoming of her daughter, Sandra…my mother. She watched cars drive up and down the street; breath baited and held in hopes of a reunion. Some may say the meeting came too late. Others may say it happened at the right time-only God knows.
She came home…to find her mother dying from a broken heart and a memory far too lost to recover. But, God is redemptive and fixes what we break. He offers moments of clarity for forgiveness and healing. He allows our trials to triumph. The prodigal daughter came home…to the open arms of a mother who would leave this world knowing that she had done everything in her authority to save her daughter’s life. She would see her well and sober. She would feel the warmth of her daughter’s touch; tenderly bathing her, rubbing her back, making her comfortable in the last days of her life. The daughter would feel the peace of forgiveness. We all hoped this would change a life.
But our hope is different than God’s. I had hoped for a grandmother who would last forever. She provided a matrix of safety. She reasoned and rationalized the demons my mother faced. She always defended me and kept me out of harm’s way. She went home to be with the Lord, leaving me behind to traverse the strongholds of my mother’s illness. Terrifying.
I became a mom in December 2004. My mother came to visit. She was dying. Her body had fought a hard battle against the poison that had preserved it for so many years. I said good-bye to her nine months later. She peacefully reunited with her mother.
It isn’t until your mother passes that you realize and absorb the vastness and importance of her in your life. You grasp for a moment to seek her approval…no matter how torn you were.
I am reminded in my own plight to be the best mom I can, she did to…the best way she knew how. While I may never understand the way she loved me; I will always know that she did.
“Her children arise and call her blessed” Proverbs 31:28 (NIV).
Copyright © 2008-2015 Samantha Ewing
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