My mother was two months shy of her 80th birthday when she died last Wednesday. She lived almost exactly a decade longer than my father, though she was never quite the same after cancer and its complications claimed his life. She gradually faded into the fog of dementia, though—gratefully—she still recognized her loved ones’ faces and voices.
Poet Mary Oliver wrote:
To live in the world
you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go (From “In Blackwater Woods”)
Love what is mortal: our deepest and truest loves are for flesh and blood—for family and friends and neighbors—which means that we love what is always dying. From the moment we take our first breaths, we are moving toward our last.
We love what is mortal, and we hold it against our bones knowing our own life depends on it. That’s true, certainly, for my sister, Pam, and me. Our very biological lives depended on her; and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren—Amy, Ezra, Lydia, Amanda, and Eliot, also carry something of her in their bones and blood.
We are not the only ones who depended on Nancy. There’s a wide circle of people from Huntington, WV to Golden Crest in Stockbridge, GA and myriad places in between who leaned on her and on whom she leaned. It’s a family, not of heredity and DNA, but of love and laughter, tears and understanding, of people who leaned on her and on whom she leaned.
We love the mortal ones, the living-dying ones. Our lives depend on them. Then, when the time comes, we let them go.
Letting go is difficult. It helps to know that her mind is whole and her body well, that she is free from pain and limitation, and that she is united fully with Love. It helps, but the letting go is still hard.
When I think of my mother, I see:
A child in her lap, snuggling and maybe sleeping against her chest.
A teenager—a kid from the First Baptist Church of Conley youth group—plopped onto the sofa in her and Dad’s living-room, pouring out her broken heart to Miss Nancy.
Kindergarteners circled around her as she reads to them.
A jigsaw puzzle on the card table where she sat for hours fitting the pieces together.
A plate of fudge on her kitchen table or a pot of chili on her stove or a pan of nachos coming out of the oven (in our family, food was often the language of love).
A bright smile spreading across her face and then laughter rising up in her,
Her sparkling eyes on Christmas morning.
A gentle stream of tears over someone else’s pain, and, occasionally her own, flowing down her cheek.
All across their married lives, Nancy and Guy, Sr., grew in their love for each other and for God. They took quite a journey together. When he was a boy, Dad had caddied for people at the country club; his last house was on a golf course. When they married, he was a shift-worker at Owens Illinois, punching a clock, listening for the whistle; he was proud that, in his last jobs, he could set his own schedule. Nancy didn’t know how to drive when they began their life together; and she understood why, late in his life, it was important for him to buy for her a bigger car than she really wanted.
As they rose from just-barely-getting-by to comfortable, she was at his side, encouraging, supporting, and helping. When he was sick, she took care of him.
Mom she taught us her faith, summed up in the apparently simple—but only apparently–songs which she often taught children: “Jesus Loves Me” and “Jesus Loves the Little Children of the World.”
Jesus love me: To trust that we are held in a love like we see and hear in the life of Jesus is to experience a welcome which overcomes shame, a grace which overwhelms guilt, and a joy which outlasts sadness.
Jesus loves the little children: We all begin that way, you know?, as little children. To live in the conviction that God loves us all and them all– is an idea more radical than we yet realize.
I am grateful for the love and faith in which Nancy lived and which she freely shared.
Rest and peace to you, Mom.
Guy, Anita, Amanda, Eliot & Family,
So very sorry to hear of your Mom’s , Grandma’s passing.
Thank you for sharing her beautiful & moving story.
Much Love, hugs, & prayers to you all, Sky & Cindy 🙏😔
Thank you so much, Sky and Cindy. We’re grateful for you and for your prayers. Our love to you, Guy
Dear Guy,
I hope my sorrow for your loss is evoked by what Edward Farley calls “Divine Empathy”: that I feel not merely for or with you but because of your sharing of deep experience [an antidote to overbearing solipsism]. I am grateful for your persistence in the all-too-immediate face of mortality.
You have helped and will continue to help us see both the joy and the sorrow of mortal transience. Perhaps we will better learn the discipline of being/becoming “passersby.”
“But just because to be here means so much and because everything here, all this that’s disappearing, seems to need us, to concern us in some strange way: we, who disappear even faster! . . . But this once having been, even though only once having been on earth, seems as though it can’t be undone.” [Rilke, “Ninth Elegy” ‘prosified’ by RGW]
How great is the love that will not let us go; like the love of your mother!
Dick
Thank you for your thoughtful note, Dick, and for the lovely reminder of Rilke’s lines. People who can weave words as he could are instruments of healing for us. All the best to you. Grace and peace, Guy.
Your thoughts come out beautifully on the page, Guy, and I can hear your delivery of them. Your memorial to your mother is lovingly done and it made my heart smile. I’m so sad to not be able to attend in honor of Nancy and support of you and Pam. Please know my spirit was and continues to lift you up in thankfulness to our Father for allowing our family paths to cross and intersect In this life and culminate in the larger Family of God sooner than it’s ever been!!! Love to you all from all of us Haag chillen.
Thank you so much, Teri. Pam and I appreciate your prayers and love, and we are grateful to you for the long years of friendship we’ve shared. We love you folks!
What a sweet tribute. I know she and Guy meant a lot to me in my years at First Baptist Conley-I plopped on their couch often. Mother Hawkins loved Nancy like a sister and thoroughly enjoyed working with her. It was so good to see Nancy about a year ago when Pam brought her to the Conley ladies’ luncheon. She will be missed.
Thank you, Judy. It’s good to hear from you, and I appreciate your kind comments about Mom. The connections made during the Conley years have lasted a lifetime, haven’t they? That’s such a gift. Grace and peace, Guy
It is great therapy recording memories as these. You did well sharing with us too.
Thank you so much, Mike.
Guy, Thank you for sharing such a beautiful tribute to your mother. I know she was a lovely woman. We are sorry for your families loss. I pray for peace and comfort for all of you in this time of grief.
Thank you, Laura, for your gracious words. I hope you and yours are doing well. Peace and love to all of you, Guy
Guy, I am sorry to hear of the passing of your mother. Your tribute to Nancy was beautiful. I hope you are doing well. I pray for you every day. We miss you at Fifth Avenue Baptist Church. I send my love and prayers to you and your family.
Barbara Sheils
Thank you so much, Barbara, for your love and prayers. I miss you folks, too. Grace and peace to you, Guy
Grief has strange ways of slipping in and out of the living. For me the grief journey is relieved when we focus, as you said, on visualizing our loved ones basking in the love of Jesus, their freedom from earthly challenges and our reunion in heaven.
Peace to you,
Robbie
Thank you, Robbie. Grief can be a stern but, ultimately, it is also a wise teacher. Peace to you, too. Guy
Dar Guy,
I see you have reached another intersection on this earth. It is difficult and complex. I pray that you are blessed with great signage (as the DOT folk say), well marked lanes and crosswalks, and gentle hands and words to assist you.
May you reap the rewards of all you have sown,
Sandra Mueller
Sandra, thank you for these words of blessing and encouragement; they mean a great deal to me. Grace and peace to you, Guy
That was beautiful! Your mom had a way of making me feel like I was always part of her family. Love and hugs!
Thank you so much, Jill! Love and hugs to you and yours, too.
What a beautiful tribute to your Mother. The letting go is very hard. May God’s Love enfold you. We love you. Dianne
Thank you so much, Dianne. Our love to you folks, too. Guy
This is beautiful! Life without your momma is never the same……..
Thanks, Rebecca. I remember when your mother died and I know what a loss that has been for you, too.
Guy, I just read that your mother passed away. I am so sorry about your loss. I think the loss of a mother is one of the most difficult of all. I did not know your mother, but it was so good to see your description of her. My mother passed away three years ago. I then took her hand and said, "Congratulations, Mom!", because she had escaped the body she no longer wished to inhabit. She was ready. I was not. I am sure this must be a very difficult time for you and your family, and I send my regards to all of you. Melanie McClure
Thank you so much, Melanie. We appreciate your thoughtfulness and care. All the best, Guy
I wish I had known your mother was in Stockbridge so close to my office. Thank you for sharing these beautiful words. Someday I will keep my promise to buy you a cup of coffee when I am in town. Grace and Peace to you.