I went to see my mother, Pat, last week. This should be a nice thing but it isn’t. It really isn’t. I was there about two hours which isn’t long. For some of that time I talked to her but she had nothing much to say in reply.
I fed her her lunch in the same way as she fed me when I was a baby.
And within seconds of leaving her bedside she would have forgotten that I had even been there.
During the visit, when she was awake that is, which wasn’t much, she gave me some intense eye contact. I don’t know whether she was trying to work out who I was, trying to tell me something or just staring blankly. None of these options fill me with joy.
Every now and again during these visits she will say something, usually a little quip, that lets you know that the essence of Pat is still there. I don’t know whether that is a good thing or not.
And every visit leaves me with a sense of loss and confusion. Loss for the mother I had who has gone and confusion as to why there is some of her still here. What is God’s purpose in prolonging her life?
And yet I must trust that there is a purpose. When people tell me that The Bible doesn’t make sense, I will usually reply “Thank God. I don’t want a God that makes sense to me.”
I want a God much more complex than that. I would find it very worrying if the world, the universe and everything could be easily summed up and explained. Even by Douglas Adams. So I have to accept that the complexity of God’s purpose applies to everything, even my mother. And this is hard.
So I will carry on asking God to take my mother’s life – which is no easy thing to do. And accept that He has reasons for not doing so – which is even harder.