Thursday, May 15, 2008

Dearest God,

I watched Ladies in Lavendar, a beautiful story of two elderly ladies who discover a young man washed up on shore near their home. I enjoyed the movie very much, a tender telling of life's dreams and lost hopes.

But what I was taken with was the etched lines in the elderly sisters' faces. Maggie Smith and Judi Dench, great British actresses, were at their best. The lines in their faces told so many stories. Each facial gesture comes from an experience...a laugh line, a worried look, sorrow and wonderment. I even stopped the video for a moment to look at their faces. You can read so much in a face.

I remember the lines of sorrow in my mother's face. The last few years of Mom's life were not her happiest. She suffered so much estrangement in her family life. Her mother was never very kind to her, never really appreciated all she did to bring her comfort, never really said thank you. And she could never remember her mother telling her once "I love you."

Mom was one of those persons who didn't really like being photographed. I always thought that was because her face showed her pain. While she usually did not own up to her feelings, you could tell what was going on just by looking at her face.

While Mother lay dying in the hospital, I was by her side the last four days. I watched her face. I wanted to be in touch with every movement of my mother's last hours. I wanted to be near her. Her face told me she was preparing to leave. I could see her growing further and further away. I wanted to pull her back but that was not for me to determine.

I will never forget the last minutes. Although I had turned out the light in the room there was light coming from the snow-covered ground outside. When the room turned chilly all of a sudden, I leaped out of bed and turned on the light in time to see Mom draw her last two breaths. "Mother, I love you. I love you Mother." I cried out to her not wanting to lose an opportunity to say a final word.

What happened next was astounding to me. Every wrinkle, every worry line, every pain Mother ever carried were suddenly gone. The permanent etchings disappeared. "Mom, you are beautiful. You are beautiful, Mother!" I kept saying over and over. She looked like I remembered her when she was 35 and I was just 14.

Whenever I think of Mother, I remember that final look, the one where peace became the only etched mark. And what a beautiful mark it was. I could tell that Mom had found the peace that long had eluded her. The past was gone with all its hurt and disappointment replaced by the tender look of contentment, serenity. In the face of the Almighty my mother's face became the glow of heaven.

We carry
our life
on our faces.
We cannot hide
from ourselves,
nor from you.
We are
what we have experienced.
But in the end,
in the end,
the only story
being told
on our face
is yours,
one of beauty,
tranquility,
and peace.

Grateful, Andrea