2000 years of theology summed up ...
It's kind of hard to explain to people how my mother is. She weaves a dreamworld and snippets of reality into a pastiche of experience that is both a blessing and a curse. I don't feel very blessed when she thinks I'm Lady Di, and is inconsolably upset because I'm going to die in a car accident. But I do find it a blessing when she's "with" loved ones, or hearing music, or singing in a performance, when she's somewhere else, freed from her rigid and uncontrollable body, away from the awful existence of the nursing home.
Yesterday, Mark and I were visiting her at the same time. The Mets game was on, and Mark and I were talking about Saturday's game, during which Nick Johnson of the Nationals collided with his first baseman while fielding a little blooper off of David Wright's bat. The first baseman's knee hit Johnson's leg and snapped his femur. Mark's lurid description of the incident brought Mom back in touch for a moment. "I want," she demanded, "you to tell me what you're talking about." We explained that we were talking about something that happened in a baseball game, and that seemed to satisfy her. It wasn't one of her kids, so sorry, Nick, but apparently it's ok that you broke your leg.
A little while later, she spoke again. When Mom speaks in anything other than tongues these days, you listen. It's pretty rare you can understand the words, for one thing, and even more unusual when the words make sentences. So, when she said very clearly, "I have to say...", Mark and I both paused and asked her to go on.
"I have to say," Mom said, "if this is Heaven, I'm really disappointed."
Yeah, Mom. Me, too. Thankfully, I think I was able to assure both of us that we're not in Heaven yet.
Yesterday, Mark and I were visiting her at the same time. The Mets game was on, and Mark and I were talking about Saturday's game, during which Nick Johnson of the Nationals collided with his first baseman while fielding a little blooper off of David Wright's bat. The first baseman's knee hit Johnson's leg and snapped his femur. Mark's lurid description of the incident brought Mom back in touch for a moment. "I want," she demanded, "you to tell me what you're talking about." We explained that we were talking about something that happened in a baseball game, and that seemed to satisfy her. It wasn't one of her kids, so sorry, Nick, but apparently it's ok that you broke your leg.
A little while later, she spoke again. When Mom speaks in anything other than tongues these days, you listen. It's pretty rare you can understand the words, for one thing, and even more unusual when the words make sentences. So, when she said very clearly, "I have to say...", Mark and I both paused and asked her to go on.
"I have to say," Mom said, "if this is Heaven, I'm really disappointed."
Yeah, Mom. Me, too. Thankfully, I think I was able to assure both of us that we're not in Heaven yet.
posted by Crowzma | 6:00 PM
2 Comments:
Sniff, sniff... sweet story.
My father used to say he didn't believe in hell. He said hell was life on earth!
My mother wasn't quite lucky enough to really go Out There, get herself back to happier times. Maybe once or twice in the year she was dying, but not enough. Or maybe she didn't have any happier times to go back to. Your mother is a remarkable lady. Her "predictions" are sort of unpleasant. I trust there is none of the Irish caul about them because potentially they are real scary.
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