Love Unfolding 
In late 1969 and early 1970, she underwent surgery for cancer of the stomach, followed by radiation treatments. Daddy died in early 1970, just one month after she was able to leave the hospital. The years that followed were marked by Mama's even greater withdrawal from my brother and me, despite the birth of several grandchildren who loved her dearly. No matter how hard I tried, I could not span the gulf between us. We visited one another often, but she always withheld her approval and affection.
Almost exactly fifteen years (to the month) that she had first been diagnosed with cancer, she began to excuse abdominal pain as "indigestion", giving it as a reason to not eat much, if anything at all. One afternoon in late 1984, when the baby and I arrived to visit with her, we found her doubled up in pain on the couch. I gave her a choice: tell me the name of her doctor or I'd choose one. Without a single protest, she complied, and within half an hour, I had her at the doctor's office. He immediately made arrangements for her to be admitted to the hospital. Two days later, the surgical team went in and did "exploratory surgery". Two more days later, back came the answer: advanced colon cancer.
Suddenly, our relationship changed: I was no longer anxious for Mother's approval--I was the one in charge, and it seemed as if her approval and acceptance blossomed overnight. Within a few days after her surgery, she was back home and I was with her every day. I saw to it that she was at her doctor's office for scheduled appointments, and did whatever needed to be done for her and around her house. For about a month, she thrived--the incision healed nicely and she seemed to be "on the mend". She was able to get up and walk a short distance with help. Mostly we just sat and talked, and watched her favorite shows on TV, while she gooed and cooed and played with "her little flower", the baby. I cooked her favorite foods, but even that could not induce her to eat very much; she mostly just moved her food around on the plate.
How much can a person talk in the short period of just a few months out of an entire life? Oh, we sat and talked for hours, literally hours. She'd sometimes doze off as I puttered about the house, cleaning and straightening things up. But she'd soon awake and away we'd go again, discussing things we'd never talked about before. She bloomed as a loving, affectionate mother. Sometimes I'd ask her what to do about this or that and she'd reply, "Now Sissy, you do what you think is best. You're doing a good job."
The only thing we never discussed, even then, was her material possessions. For her to have been so guarded with them for so many years, they no longer mattered to her. She seemed completely at ease to let me "handle things", never protesting when I had to spend money on medical supplies, or things for the house. That alone astonished me: it was as if she had done a complete about-face. All that seemed to matter to her was that she wanted to love those around her, and be loved by them. She hugged the grandchildren frequently and would call me back for a "good-bye hug" if I forgot to give her one when I left the house, no matter how short the errand. It was love unfolding, more and more each day.
Mama was a wonderful cook and excellent seamstress; she had sewed for the public for years. She had never had the patience to teach me how to do either, but I had taught myself. Now she wanted to see what I had made or was working on. Each item could have been a work of art--she told me I was a better seamstress than she. Well, that could NOT happen [in my estimation], but according to her, it was so. A world award could not have meant more to me. If I had a problem with something on a garment, she taught me how to resolve it. I stayed up late at night, cutting out clothes for the children so Mama could teach me more about sewing. That which I had so long yearned for--Mama's love--was mine. I was finally at peace with myself--I had "arrived".
About a month after her surgery, Mama began to look pale and seemed to have less and less strength. I took her back to her doctor and he ordered her readmitted to the hospital. When I confronted him with hard questions he reluctantly told me that the x-rays showed the cancer had spread. There was no hope--man could do nothing. I was devastated. No! It wasn't long enough! Mama and I had finally "found" each other--please God, please, don't take her now!
Time became even more precious to us. Her doctor agreed that she could be cared for at home. She wanted the grandchildren around her as much as possible; we moved into her house so we could be there all the time. It was a time of great healing--a time to treasure and truly appreciate one another. Several times, she had to be transported back to the hospital. She'd improve enough to be sent home, but each "recovery" was shorter than the last and she'd soon weaken again.
Still, we talked. At night, I made notes of things to ask her about the next day. I knew she was leaving and soon all the knowledge she had (that I needed) would be gone. What great conversations we had: I found out so much about her early years, how she and Daddy met, the places they'd lived. It seemed as if all that should have been said through the years, God was giving us the time to say them then. She'd look up at me with her pretty blue eyes and tell me that she loved me "with all her heart" and I knew she meant it. She'd ask me to sing or read to her. She wanted the baby, her "little flower" by her side. When she felt like talking on the phone, she'd tell her friends about "the most precious baby in the world", and brag about how sweet and smart Ricky and Tiffany were. When Ricky and Tiffany came home from school each day, in spite of her pain, she wanted them to be there by her on the bed. They'd show her their drawings or school work, and she'd tell them stories about herself as a little girl.
Time went too quickly by--she began to slip in and out of a coma. Dale finally made it home, and she told him she loved him, too. They spent as much time together as possible. Often, she'd "slip away" during their conversations and he would sit there, waiting for her to "return". Then came the day she had to be taken back to the hospital--she would never come home again. We still had a bit of time with her, but the cancer was rapidly advancing throughout her body. The periods of coma became extended and she was moved from the hospital to a nursing facility.
Only a few days after moving her to the nursing home, Mama began making sounds as if she were talking. I asked the doctor about it--he said, "We don't know what's going on the minds of people in her condition, but it's as if they are carrying on conversations, sometimes from decades long past." It seemed likely--what few syllables we were able to distinguish from time to time, were the names of those long gone from this life.
The nursing staff was good to us all, but there was one nurse in particular who still stands out in our memory: she was a small woman, barely five feet tall. She didn't say a lot, but had a sweet voice when she did speak. When she was in the room, she went about her duties quietly, but I never saw her leave the room without stopping by Mama's bed, and either touching her hand, or placing one of her own gently beside Mama's face. For that brief moment, she'd pause, eyes closed, and her lips would move soundlessly. Then, almost before one realized it, she'd move away, chart in hand, and leave the room.
It was a long period of grief--what few times I got Mama to open her eyes, there was no note of recognition in them. Even putting her beloved "little flower" by her side could no longer compel her back to us. It was as if her spirit had already taken flight, casting off the mortal shell. She was beyond the reach of any of us--all we could do was try to keep her body as comfortable as possible.
One could tell, though, that she was suffering; she would turn her head from side to side and moan, as tears crept from the corners of her eyes and slid down the sides of her face. Sometimes her hands would slightly flutter, and she'd stir in the bed, as if to shift positions. We turned her every two hours, but by this time, nothing offered much relief.
Dale had a very hard time dealing with Mama in that condition; his visits were infrequent. One day, he came by and sat down in a chair beside me at the foot of Mama's bed. The baby was taking her afternoon nap on the second bed in the room; it was quiet. The doctor had been in that morning and told me, "it would not be very long now." The little nurse came in to check on Mama and as she neared her bed, she reached out and touched me on my shoulder: "Look, she's smiling."
Dale and I stood up together and looked at Mama's pain-worn face. It was, indeed, relaxed into a beautiful smile. I gasped--it was such a wonderful sight--she had been in agony for so long. The nurse turned to us and said, "She's being serenaded by angels, now." I heard a strangled sound and turned to see Dale drop to his knees there at the foot of Mama's bed as he cried out, "Oh God, have mercy on me!" The nurse didn't seem the least bit surprised by his outburst. She took two steps toward him and laid her hand on his head, closed her eyes, and as I'd seen her do before, soundlessly moved her lips. I'll never know what she said that day, but the One Who Matters did.
Early the next morning, I went to several stores to try to find a dress for Mama. There was nothing to meet my standards, so I went home and found one she had made for herself--it was lovely. Just as I was leaving the house to go to the nursing home, I got a phone call from the charge nurse, who bade me, "Come quickly." I broke every speed law for those nearly twenty-five miles. The charge nurse met me as I ran down the hall and told me Mama had passed away about twenty minutes before. I hated to think she had died without any family around her, but when I went into her room, there was "our" little nurse, still by her side. I looked closely to make sure I wasn't imagining things, but surely enough, Mama's face was again relaxed into a smile, as if she were merely sleeping and would soon awaken, rested and refreshed. I knew then she had not died "alone".
The nurse's words from the day before came back to my mind and I said to her, "Surely she must still have been 'serenaded by angels'." She smiled back at me and said in her lovely, quiet voice, "She's only slipped away, you know. You can see her again, and I'll pray that you will."
Whatever the comfort that God gave Mama during those final days on this earth, He left with us, too, as through the years we've remembered the treasured time we had with her. One might say, "But if you had had that all along..." Yet I have to answer, "What a life-changing miracle was wrought in our lives, as we experienced the tremendous Love of God that reached into all our hearts and made the changes that needed to be made. And through the years of separation since, it has brought peace as nothing else could. When I think of the terrible, gaping wound that could have been left, but God's love healed, I am forever grateful to Him for the power of His love in our lives."
Oh, to know the Lord Jesus Christ as our personal Savior, held in the comfort that only He can give. To know this old world, with all its trials and tribulations is not all there is for us. What a grand reassurance we have:
But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words. I Thessalonians 4:13-18.We love the Lord Jesus Christ, and thank Him each day for that which He has brought us through--each and every lesson. It is our prayer that He guide us and let us to reach out in compassion to those who may be hurting or need a kind word, a smile, a note of encouragement. You see, we personally experienced the miracle of Love Unfolding that we wish to pass on to all that are around us.
The years pass more quickly now, just as Mama said they would. Even as I tell my own children and grandchildren how very special they are to me and the joy they bring into my life, I am passing on that same love that shone from Mama's eyes as the Lord unfolded His love into her heart, too.
All Rights Reserved
by Kirk Talley
If you have been blessed, give God the Glory!
Please sign our guestbook; let us know you enjoyed
"Love Unfolding".
Thank you so much for visiting He Is Able!
ALL material on He Is Able is protected by copyright.
