A Rose, A Kiss and A Prayer For Forgiveness

I try not to ask for much. Sometimes I don't ask enough. I've been told that sometimes I need to ask for more information. Sometimes for directions. Sometimes for a second opinion. Sometimes only to understand the question I just heard. As a kid, however, I used to ask my mom for many things. I would her ask for snacks, fruits or the last serving of spaghetti. I would ask her for permission to go outside and play. I would ask her to prevent my brothers and sisters from killing me. Perhaps the most important thing was asking her to be merciful and not show my report card to my dad. The desire was never granted, but it was always worth asking the question. Mom believed in us. She would encourage us, though sometimes it didn't sound quite like encouragement. She would give advice knowing that we would neither follow it nor understand it until we had kids of our own. She used to tell me that I had talent for art even when I didn't think that my art was any good. She was that way. She believed in us. When I became a parent, my parent's experiences became my how-to manual. For good or not-so-good, that was really all I had to lean on. After we returned from our driving vacation to Chicago in 1993 my mother sent me a photo of our gang in the van as we were heading out. Written on the back were the word's "So proud of the man you became." I guess she recognized their years of labor showing a fruit that she could recognize. Tomorrow is Mother's Day. It will be the first without my mother. I have wondered how it will go, more so for my dad than me or my siblings. He spent 56 Mother's Days with her.  Think about how many gifts he bought her in our names. Think about how much of a challenge it must have been to keep 5 kids from ruining her day with our bickering. As much as we will feel the loss and the emptiness of the holiday, it will not compare to the hole he will try to fill with something other than the memories. Yet in all honesty, I hope he spends the day filling it with those wonderful memories. Last June when I found out she was sick and not likely to survive for any significant length of time I left work to visit them in suburban Chicago. I thought for sure that I would visit her for a few days, seeing her alive, and then returning when she passed. I had no idea how aggressive this cancer was, nor that she would pass on the morning I was supposed to return to California. It was a whirlwind of emotion and bad news as the doctor's reports grew ever more grim as, not the days, but the hours, passed. Dad and I spent the last night with her in the hospital. All of my brothers and sisters were standing beside her when she breathed her last. I felt so grateful that we were all there for her last breath, because she was there for each our first breaths. As heart-wrenching as that was - the experience indelibly etched in my mind - I remember something else just as vividly. It was the questions. As her conditioned worsened the nurses would administer medicines to ease the pain she was in. There was many times when she would cry out for her mom, relatives or others that had already passed. We were advised that this could be a symptom of the meds, or it could be a indicator of an imminent passage. I guess we'll truly never know in this life. The questions. Because of her condition, her questions and requests were slurred at best and incoherent at times. But it didn't stop her from trying to communicate with us. As she tried to speak sometimes only fragmented segments of words were uttered. But I could understand her request for the rose. I bought her a single rose in a vase and I put it next to her bed. She must have been able to smell it but that would have been quite a task with the oxygen feeding directly into her nose. She wanted to smell the rose. I held it next to her nose and watched as she did everything she could in her weakened condition to breath deeply and experience the smell of a rose. She loved flowers, especially yellow roses. We draped her casket with them and we wore yellow ties to the services. She was our rose. The fragrance of a life dedicated to her family. We heard the words "chalk", "car", "cigarette", "cake" and so many, many others with the hard "C" sound. We struggled to make sense of it until she finally hit the word she was trying to say - "kiss". When she formed that word, she held on to it, asking repeatedly to be kissed. Dad lit up and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. We all did. When I think about how many times she tried to find that word I realized how much she wanted to be kissed. When you love, you want to be loved. Later when the others had gone outside leaving just me and my sister-in-law with her, my mom began to form words for yet another request. These words were "Father" and "give me". It didn't take long to catch on and I asked her, "Mom, are you asking Our Father to forgive you?" She nodded. I simply held her hand and for a little while asked a merciful God to grant this last request. It may be difficult tomorrow. But as I think about my mom I have a renewed understanding of a very well known passage in Scripture, "Ask and you shall receive." Whether it's for a kiss, a rose or even forgiveness, if it's important to you, ask. Enjoy life and be grateful for the blessings and the family God has given you. I do. If you don't believe me. Just ask.