Since I wrote my last letter to you about the way your
mother came to my rescue when I called her, I’ve been thinking about both of
our mothers. I wouldn’t describe either
one of them as warm and fuzzy, although I would say that my mother might have
had a slight edge over yours in that category; but your mother certainly had a
kind and generous heart! When my mother
returned from Hawaii after losing the baby, she once again relied on that
generosity and, as you recall, your mother opened her home to both of us.
It seemed odd to be staying in your house without you! As you’ve reminded me, your relationship with
your mother was strained at that point, so you were living with your
grandmother. There’s a lot I don’t remember about that time, but you have
mentioned to me that, when you came to visit, you envied the relationship I
seemed to have with my mother because you heard us giggling together in our
room. I was definitely happy to have her
home, safe and sound. I asked her
whether Bill had done anything to cause her to lose the baby, and she assured
me that he had not. In fact, she said,
he had been absolutely wonderful the entire time she was in Hawaii. She described his attentiveness and concern
in glowing terms.
On one hand, I was thankful she had not been in danger; but,
on the other hand, my suspicions appeared to be confirmed that I had been the
thorn in Bill’s side all along. With me
out of the picture, he had apparently become the man my mother always hoped he
would be. I asked her why she came back,
if things were so perfect; and she said they both agreed she needed to be with
me. I realized that this positioned Bill
as the noble, self-sacrificing one and I was once more the obstacle in the way
of my mother’s happiness; but, I was fourteen and I didn’t care; I was simply glad
to have my mother back.
As I began to feel more stable, my grades and my attitude
improved. My mother found a job, and I
began to look forward to a time when we could afford a place of our own. So, about six weeks before the end of the
school year, I was completely taken by surprise when my mother announced that she
was going back to Hawaii. I can’t
honestly tell you what my reaction was on the outside, I may have cried and
pleaded for her to stay, I don’t remember; but, on the inside, I emotionally shut
down. The immediate plan, my mother
explained, was for me to remain in your mother’s home until school was out, and
then I would go to stay with my grandparents for the summer. What would happen after that was yet to be
determined.
I clearly remember the day she left. It was early May. I had the flu, with a high fever. Everyone in the house was going out to dinner
to celebrate your birthday and Mothers Day.
I was supposed to go with you, but I was too sick. Your mother offered to reschedule, but there
were too many people involved for the plans to be changed at the last
minute. So, after you left the house, my
mother tucked me in bed, kissed me goodbye and took a cab to the airport.
That became a defining moment for me. For more years than I want to admit, I used
that moment, that image of my mother, suitcase in hand, walking out of my room
and leaving me, sick and alone, as the wellspring from which I drew bitterness
and self-pity. Over and over I conjured
up that moment to justify my hard-heartedness and unforgiveness. I used it as a reason for entitlement. In my
mind, my mother had, at that moment, created a debt to me which she could never
repay.
Many years passed before I understood that I, too, had created
scores of debts I could not pay; not only to God, but to those around me. The brokenness which exists in each one of us
causes us to repeat patterns we swore we would never repeat and to make poor
choices even when we're certain we're doing the right thing. This brokenness results in our wounding those
we love the most. This brokenness creates debts we cannot pay; debts which
could only be paid by the death and resurrection of the very Son of God.
I’m so grateful to know that truth now. I wish I had learned it sooner.
Love Always,
Bonnie