Ever since I was a small child, I have tried to get people to understand the truth – to protect, to warn, to make it right, and to invite them into something new and good. My hope… that I will find a way that you will hear me and that life will arise from the shadows. I’ve mostly been loving, kind and playful, yet persistent. Although, sadly there was a season in my teens that I spoke truth to hurt. But that’s a different story for another time.
It was a spring day in the late 60’s and I’m 7-years-old. I’m walking downtown in Holton, Kansas with my beautiful mother. My hands are filled with a large fountain drink from the drug store. The delight momentarily distracts me from the stares of the people. You see, my mother, sister, and I live with my grandparents. My father abandoned us for another woman during the week of Thanksgiving. It’s been a difficult 6 months and she’s slowly coming back to life.
We enter French’s Hardware on the square. My mother leaves me to wander the small toy section. My freedom cut short by the owner’s big finger pointing in my direction. He’s yelling at me to get out. “Didn’t you see the sign?” I’m stunned. I had not seen the sign. I moved in the direction I’d last seen my mother – only to be stopped by his large body blocking my way and once again told to leave. “I’ll take care of your mother.” He snorts.
I left the store confused and afraid. I frantically ran back and forth jumping up to get a better look through the large store windows for my mother. When I see her, I am flooded with relief. I do not want her to get into trouble. But, she does not understand what I am saying through the windows. I gesture towards my drink shaking my head. Still no understanding. I feverishly wave for her to get out.
The owner has picked up the sign and its large base like it’s a toothpick. I know I must leave my drink outside and rescue my mother. Entering the store, I see the owner leaning on the sign having placed it directly in my mother’s path. As if in slow motion, I try to get to my mother. But fail. I watch as she turns, hits the sign full-on, says excuse me, walks around it, and continues shopping drink in hand. The owner’s brief satisfaction turns to disgust. She finally sees me. I blurt out my distress. She dismisses me and walks out of the store. I try again, but she’s busy enjoying sips of her drink as if nothing has happened. She looks at me like I’m crazy.
This is how my mother lived her life. The truth right in front of her yet walking around it as if nothing had ever happened. Over the years I kept hoping for the right words or the right gesture to help her hear and to know she truly loved me. That never happened. And the thing is, I said it right the first time.
Heartbreakingly, my mother left this world in September with un-resolve and a refusal to face the reality of her life and my life. It could have been so different. Yet, she persistently refused repair and denied abuse. In many ways nothing changed the day she died and everything changed that day. A hope for repair on this side of eternity lost. Gosh… I still find my heart hoping even after her death for repair and reconciliation. I feel a bit foolish.
Yet, death does not win! There will be a day of repair and resolve for the abuse I suffered. A day where I don’t have to say it just the right way, make it right, or invite. It will be made right for me on the day that God, the One who created me in my mother’s womb, invites me to sit with Him – face to face in my stories as He wipes away every tear and every pain. And if that’s not something to hope for – I don’t know what is.
Someday!!
Painting by Natalia Tejera
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/mother-and-daughter-natalia-tejera.html
redeemingrobyn 