Thinking About Mother’s Day – Part 1

May 13 is a day that sticks in my mind more clearly than most. That is the day in 1976 when my mother died. I was 21 years old. Although that was 29 years ago it is very clear in my mind. The events that took place over the next 48 hours are so clear in my mind that I will forever remember them.

It dawned on me a couple of days ago that although I have spoken about, written here and other places about my Dad, I have not written much about my mother. That is somewhat natural, because I had her with me for only 40% of my life to this point. My Dad was alive for 45 years of my life. The next two days, I intend to write a bit about my mother. Today, I will share about my final hours with her. Tomorrow I will talk about her as a person.

My Mom died four days after Mother’s Day in 1976. A lot was taking place in my life at that time that causes me to stop and think whenever I begin to realize it. During those final weeks of my Mom’s life I was resigning from a position at the Federal Reserve Bank in Charlotte, planning a move out of state to begin preparation for ministry, and undergoing the first surgery of my life. Dealing with the death of my mother was definitely not on my list.

A few weeks earlier a physical issue had been discovered in my body that required surgical repair. On Mother’s Day I entered the hospital to prepare for surgery the next morning. That morning at church, the pastor had asked anyone who had their mother present to go to them and tell them you loved them . . . or something to that effect. In any event, I walked to my Mom to hug her and tell her that I did indeed love her. I am 6’1” and my Mom was 5’2”. It probably looked funny.

After my surgery on Monday morning, I was visited each day by my Mom and Dad as well as many family members and friends. Thursday was the first day where they had not come by. I was not troubled because they did have lives to lead and I had nothing life threatening.

Late Thursday evening my Mom came by to visit along with her best friend Gail. My room was very crowded, for a group of friends had sneaked in past the nurse’s station. We were laughing and having a lot of fun. I recall looking at my Mom and thinking she looked as if she was a bit heavier than normal. I later learned she had begun retaining fluid.

Mom had dealt with a heart murmur, knowingly for more than a decade, possibly her entire life. She also was in need of some other heart surgery, by-pass if I recall, but was terrified of being put to sleep during surgery because her sister-in-law had died during surgery a decade previous. We now all realize that if Mom had gone through the surgery she would probably still be alive.

Mom left at about 8:15 p.m. I told her I loved her as she walked out the door. After leaving, Mom drove her friend Gail home. It was the last act she would ever perform. Within minutes, my Dad got a frantic call on the CB radio in the home (they were very popular at that time) calling for help. She pulled the car into our driveway, stumbled into the house and died on the sofa of a massive heart attack. She was not officially pronounced dead for some time, but my Dad says she died before they ever left the house.

By the time she arrived at home, my Dad had already called an ambulance. It arrived within minutes to transport her to the hospital.

At 9:15 p.m. my Dad walked into my room, which seemed very strange to me at that hour, and crossed over to my bed. “Terry, we have just brought your Mom to the emergency room. It does not look good. I came up to tell you so you could pray.” He then walked out and back to the emergency room.

Pray I did. I got out of bed, limped over to a chair by the window and sat to pray. I prayed for my Mom. I prayed hard for her. But I never once asked God to let her live. I simply prayed for what He knew was ultimately best. Why, I do not know. But that is what I did.

About 15 minutes later, my Dad walked into my room, crossed over to me and had a chair in the seat across from me. Entering the room behind him was his best friend, Steve (Gail’s husband) and our Pastor. He looked at me and said, “Terry, we did all we could.” I buried my hand in my face and wept harder than I had ever wept before.

At the age of 21, I was about to leave everyone I knew and cared for to prepare for ministry, my Mom was dead.

Mother’s Day was a little over a week ago. Let me ask you, “Is your Mother still alive?” Does she know that you love her? Even on these non-holidays? If you are blessed to still have a mother alive, why not tell her today that you love her. Call her. E-mail her. Write her. But tell her.

Life is precious. I would love to be able to still tell my Mom I love her. Some days, I will still talk to God and ask Him to tell my Mom I miss her, and I love her, and I know she loves me and would be proud of me for what is taking place in my life.

Tomorrow I will go elsewhere with this topic, but today the topic is simply to remind us to tell those we care about that we love them. For, we do.