Not Always Happiness, But Joy
Hello, Praying Friend!
My mom turned 83 yesterday. I spent the day with her—we had a great time! She rarely meets a stranger. There was the time she was robbed at gunpoint at a fabric store in Junction City, Kansas, when I was in third grade. I suppose he was a stranger. Also, in first grade, in Orlando, my two sisters and I broke down with mom on I-4. A stranger picked us up in his van. I remember sitting on the floor in the back—probably a VW Bus—seeing an empty glass Coke bottle and thinking, “If he tries anything, I’ll hit him with this!” Pretty violent for a first grader, who’d never seen a movie. (Well, we did have to watch The Sound of Music every year with mom when it came on TV.) But I digress.
My mom is losing her memory to Alzheimer’s. (Her dad had it too. I remember our family dealing with it when I was in high school.) But this is about my mama. In my book, Sharing Wonder, I wrote, “My mom is one of two people that I think has a direct line to God.” I still believe that. Digressed again, sorry, let’s see, where am I…
Oh, yes, mama. God. And strangers.
She’s never met a stranger (not withstanding the aforementioned). Yesterday, as we spent her birthday eating and talking—in case you’re wondering where I get my gift of gab from, ‘tis her! While enjoying an amazing piece of cheesecake from cousin Allie Grace’s bakery in Lawrenceburg, Tennessee, my mom struck up a conversation with a young woman named Megan. I won’t bore you with the details, but when it was all over, she gave Mom her card. She is a recent veteran and now has her own business in town as an aesthetician.
After about 20 minutes, Megan took her now-not-so-fresh order to go. As mom and I talked and laughed, I thought, “I don’t think my mom has ever had a facial.” Few manicures, and I’m sure fewer pedicures. She’s never been the type. She didn’t get her ears pierced until her forties.
As she sipped the frosted coffee Allie made for her, I scanned the QR code on Megan’s card. Quickly, I booked a facial for Mom that afternoon. We finished up at Allie’s and went home to rest before her pampering.
When we walked through the shop door, Megan met us and said excitedly, “It’s so great to see you both again!” My mom looked at me, puzzled, and asked, “How do you know each other?”
Ah. Alzheimers.
I quickly explained that we had met earlier that afternoon at Allie’s Bakery. I said, “Mom, Megan’s giving you a facial.” Mom replied, “Do you think it’ll help this face?” Laughter erupts.
Earlier that morning, I reminded Mom it was her 83rd birthday. She replied, “I guess it is.” Then I asked, “Mom, how old do you feel—not your real age, but how old do you feel?” She said, “90, I think.” Laughter erupts.
There are always laughs around my mom, but it isn’t easy. As my sister says, “When I leave mom’s house, I sometimes feel like I’m the one losing my mind.”
Watching a loved one—especially a deeply loving mother—struggle for words and then talk about grading students’ papers that morning, despite being retired for 20 years, is hard.
Many of you know exactly what that feels like.
But we still have joy—not always happiness, but joy. My mom poured her life into people at church and in the classroom: teaching, leading, directing, mothering, hugging, crying, motivating, and grieving with many. Her love for Jesus fueled it all.
Experts say as the disease progresses, people can change—often growing angry or lashing out. I don’t know if we’ll see that with mom. I pray we don’t. Losing her laughter would be terrible.
But even if the disease overtakes her mind, I believe she’ll keep her joy inside. Jesus has her, even if she can’t express it. If I were a betting man, and I’m not, I’d bet she’ll go out with a smile and a song.
After the session, I asked, “How’d she do?” Megan said, “Great! She loved the shoulder massage! If she’d stopped talking, I think she’d have fallen asleep!” Megan, a stranger four hours ago, was wonderful with mom: kind, gentle, and spoke to her as if she were her grandmother. I liked Megan the moment I saw her at Allie’s—camo pants and a beige t-shirt with Holy Spirit symbols in rows.
We’re in the days between Resurrection and Ascension and then Pentecost—the waiting, praying days. Acts says they “all joined together constantly in prayer.” I think my mama has been in that upper room for years. I think Jesus—who doesn’t wait on a calendar—sent Megan, camo, Holy Spirit symbols and all, to remind me of that.
May your Eastertide be filled with joy even in the midst of struggle and strife.
Leading With Imagination,
