Lambasting God
Stories
Shining Moments
Visions Of The Holy In Ordinary Lives
Maria Seifert
My mother, Eva, was born in the back woods of south Texas in 1934. Her family was very poor and she was the third child of ten. When Mom was a little girl, she contracted strep throat and, due to the poverty of the Great Depression, it was left untreated. As a result, Mom suffered significant heart damage and heart problems plagued her all of her life.
At the young age of 65, Mom suffered a stroke, which drastically changed her personality. She went from watching Milwaukee Public Television and Christian preachers to never missing an episode of Jerry Springer. Mom would actually shush us if we dared to talk before a commercial! She became self-centered, selfish, impatient, full of self-pity and anger, and physically violent. Thankfully, my father had quick reflexes, so there was never any real damage done. Simply put, Mom changed to the opposite of the mom that I had known so well and loved so much. This didn't dampen my love for her, and I continued to support and nurture this new person who became so uncharacteristically dependent on anyone within arm's reach.
One morning, Mom's blood pressure became dangerously high, resulting in a hospital stay and a battery of tests. On the evening she was supposed to return home, the doctor requested that she stay just one more night for an additional test that couldn't be administered until the next morning. Mom suffered multiple strokes in her sleep that night and never regained consciousness.
When there was nothing more the hospital could do for her, Mom was moved to a nursing home. I scheduled meetings with the admissions staff to get information and paperwork. I was informed that, when my father could no longer afford to pay for Mom's care privately, she would become a Medicaid patient. In order to qualify for Medicaid, pretty much everything but the spouse's home and vehicle would have to be liquidated. My mom was a teacher for 39 years and my father was a longshoreman. They spent years saving their money to live their retirement years comfortably, with a home in the city, and their small cottage up north. All of their saving and the fruits of their labor would be for naught. I had to explain this to my father several times, in two languages. I knew it finally registered when I saw insecurity in his eyes during one conversation. I had never seen that look in my father before.
I was so angry that night, it was radiating from my body. No one in the family even dared talk to me. I was blaming no one but God for the whole mess, and I let him have it when I prayed, if you could even call it praying. I started ranting at about 9 p.m. and the last time I looked at the clock it was about 1 a.m. I lambasted God for not taking my mom to heaven. She had spent her entire life listening to, reading, and living his word, teaching it to children and adults alike. She was humble, generous, selfless, obedient, and above all, she made people happy. Why was she not in heaven? If this was part of his plan, I needed God to know that I thought it really sucked! I also told him that, up until that day, I was one of his biggest fans. This is actually quite a mild interpretation of my one-way conversation with God that night.
I awoke the next morning with a very heavy heart. My eyes were puffy from crying and my chest hurt from too much raw emotion. The first thought that entered my mind as I sat up in bed was, "Your dad is not ready to let her go yet. Until he is ready, she will stay." I received that message, the first of many that day, from a little voice inside my head that just so happened to speak in the third person. I wondered if it was my ever-present guardian angel passing on a message, since I was sure God didn't want anything to do with me after the previous night. Or may be it was God! I prayed silently and sheepishly, "I'm so very sorry for everything I said last night ... and early this morning ... for every mean thought I had of you. I take it all back. I don't even feel worthy to receive your message. Thank you for that. Thank you for finding me worthy and for forgiving and loving me. I am sorry I slandered your plan."
I went to work that morning mostly for the distraction. Then the little voice said, "Leave right now and pick up your sister. Get to the nursing home immediately." I went at once. My sister, her children, my father, Tia Emma and Uncle Frank, and I were sitting in my mother's room when a nurse came in to adjust Mom's feeding tube. There was black stuff going through the tube and my sister asked what it was. The nurse said that it was bile; that mom's body was beginning to shut down, little by little, and that she would most likely pass in a day or two. She told us several other things very carefully and thoughtfully before she left. Although I heard my voice come out flat and hard as a rock, I thanked the nurse for explaining things so gently.
I remember half-heartedly doing a word search puzzle. Mom began to struggle for each breath and her entire body shook unnaturally. I couldn't look at her in this state. The body before my eyes was not the mom that I remembered in my heart. Then my little voice said, very clearly and very urgently, "If you are going to say good-bye to your mom, you had better do it now." I jumped out of my chair, startling everyone in the room as the word search book flew out of my hands and hit one of my nieces in the head. I sat next to my mom on her bed and held her warm hand. I kissed her face all over, much the way I kiss my children's faces. My last kiss was planted on mom's forehead. I told Mom I was going to miss having her in my life so much, and that I would always love her. She took her last breath when I finished my sentence. A warm and overwhelming feeling of peace poured over me like water.
I bowed my head and told God, "You gave me a gift today, and I need you to know that I really, really appreciate it. Your forgiveness knows no bounds. You took the beating that I gave you and gave me back unyielding grace. You gave me a heads up all day today and then allowed me to say good-bye to my mom. Thank you for loving me unconditionally."
As time goes by, I find that I miss my mom in spurts. One night, while rocking my second child to sleep, I found myself missing Mom something awful. On that particular day, I had wanted to call her with two history questions, and I needed baby advice. That night when I went to bed, I asked God to let Mom know that I love her and miss her so much, and that I could really have used one of her hugs that day.
That night, God bestowed yet another gift to me. I dreamed I was coming home from college and walking toward the house where I grew up. I leapt up the slanted stairs in my usual fashion and Mom answered the door, wearing her familiar muumuu and a big smile. She hugged me so hard I felt her heartbeat, and I could smell her scent mixed with the smell of fresh tortillas and beans from the kitchen. When I woke up, my eyes were filled with tears of joy.
My mother, Eva, was born in the back woods of south Texas in 1934. Her family was very poor and she was the third child of ten. When Mom was a little girl, she contracted strep throat and, due to the poverty of the Great Depression, it was left untreated. As a result, Mom suffered significant heart damage and heart problems plagued her all of her life.
At the young age of 65, Mom suffered a stroke, which drastically changed her personality. She went from watching Milwaukee Public Television and Christian preachers to never missing an episode of Jerry Springer. Mom would actually shush us if we dared to talk before a commercial! She became self-centered, selfish, impatient, full of self-pity and anger, and physically violent. Thankfully, my father had quick reflexes, so there was never any real damage done. Simply put, Mom changed to the opposite of the mom that I had known so well and loved so much. This didn't dampen my love for her, and I continued to support and nurture this new person who became so uncharacteristically dependent on anyone within arm's reach.
One morning, Mom's blood pressure became dangerously high, resulting in a hospital stay and a battery of tests. On the evening she was supposed to return home, the doctor requested that she stay just one more night for an additional test that couldn't be administered until the next morning. Mom suffered multiple strokes in her sleep that night and never regained consciousness.
When there was nothing more the hospital could do for her, Mom was moved to a nursing home. I scheduled meetings with the admissions staff to get information and paperwork. I was informed that, when my father could no longer afford to pay for Mom's care privately, she would become a Medicaid patient. In order to qualify for Medicaid, pretty much everything but the spouse's home and vehicle would have to be liquidated. My mom was a teacher for 39 years and my father was a longshoreman. They spent years saving their money to live their retirement years comfortably, with a home in the city, and their small cottage up north. All of their saving and the fruits of their labor would be for naught. I had to explain this to my father several times, in two languages. I knew it finally registered when I saw insecurity in his eyes during one conversation. I had never seen that look in my father before.
I was so angry that night, it was radiating from my body. No one in the family even dared talk to me. I was blaming no one but God for the whole mess, and I let him have it when I prayed, if you could even call it praying. I started ranting at about 9 p.m. and the last time I looked at the clock it was about 1 a.m. I lambasted God for not taking my mom to heaven. She had spent her entire life listening to, reading, and living his word, teaching it to children and adults alike. She was humble, generous, selfless, obedient, and above all, she made people happy. Why was she not in heaven? If this was part of his plan, I needed God to know that I thought it really sucked! I also told him that, up until that day, I was one of his biggest fans. This is actually quite a mild interpretation of my one-way conversation with God that night.
I awoke the next morning with a very heavy heart. My eyes were puffy from crying and my chest hurt from too much raw emotion. The first thought that entered my mind as I sat up in bed was, "Your dad is not ready to let her go yet. Until he is ready, she will stay." I received that message, the first of many that day, from a little voice inside my head that just so happened to speak in the third person. I wondered if it was my ever-present guardian angel passing on a message, since I was sure God didn't want anything to do with me after the previous night. Or may be it was God! I prayed silently and sheepishly, "I'm so very sorry for everything I said last night ... and early this morning ... for every mean thought I had of you. I take it all back. I don't even feel worthy to receive your message. Thank you for that. Thank you for finding me worthy and for forgiving and loving me. I am sorry I slandered your plan."
I went to work that morning mostly for the distraction. Then the little voice said, "Leave right now and pick up your sister. Get to the nursing home immediately." I went at once. My sister, her children, my father, Tia Emma and Uncle Frank, and I were sitting in my mother's room when a nurse came in to adjust Mom's feeding tube. There was black stuff going through the tube and my sister asked what it was. The nurse said that it was bile; that mom's body was beginning to shut down, little by little, and that she would most likely pass in a day or two. She told us several other things very carefully and thoughtfully before she left. Although I heard my voice come out flat and hard as a rock, I thanked the nurse for explaining things so gently.
I remember half-heartedly doing a word search puzzle. Mom began to struggle for each breath and her entire body shook unnaturally. I couldn't look at her in this state. The body before my eyes was not the mom that I remembered in my heart. Then my little voice said, very clearly and very urgently, "If you are going to say good-bye to your mom, you had better do it now." I jumped out of my chair, startling everyone in the room as the word search book flew out of my hands and hit one of my nieces in the head. I sat next to my mom on her bed and held her warm hand. I kissed her face all over, much the way I kiss my children's faces. My last kiss was planted on mom's forehead. I told Mom I was going to miss having her in my life so much, and that I would always love her. She took her last breath when I finished my sentence. A warm and overwhelming feeling of peace poured over me like water.
I bowed my head and told God, "You gave me a gift today, and I need you to know that I really, really appreciate it. Your forgiveness knows no bounds. You took the beating that I gave you and gave me back unyielding grace. You gave me a heads up all day today and then allowed me to say good-bye to my mom. Thank you for loving me unconditionally."
As time goes by, I find that I miss my mom in spurts. One night, while rocking my second child to sleep, I found myself missing Mom something awful. On that particular day, I had wanted to call her with two history questions, and I needed baby advice. That night when I went to bed, I asked God to let Mom know that I love her and miss her so much, and that I could really have used one of her hugs that day.
That night, God bestowed yet another gift to me. I dreamed I was coming home from college and walking toward the house where I grew up. I leapt up the slanted stairs in my usual fashion and Mom answered the door, wearing her familiar muumuu and a big smile. She hugged me so hard I felt her heartbeat, and I could smell her scent mixed with the smell of fresh tortillas and beans from the kitchen. When I woke up, my eyes were filled with tears of joy.
