My Mother and What She Is Still Teaching Me.

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.

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