THE HOPE THAT IS OURS
“What do you want, Mama?”
She lay in her bed and her fingers fidgeted, plucking continuously at the edge of the bedding. Straight, white hair streamed from her head and spilled onto her pillow. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming words for other ears. Her translucent skin stretched like parchment over her head and hands, both traced by purple veins. Occasionally she would focus, nod and reach out her talon fingers, snatching at something only she could see. She would pause a moment and then resume plucking at the sheet covering her.
The wall she faced was filled with pictures from her past, elegant days of debut and accomplishment. Once a world-renowned violinist, she lay now in the palatial home in which she and her late husband had reared six children and hosted celebrities and fund-raisers for civic and religious causes. Several autographed portraits spoke of affection and esteem for her. Albums on a bureau were filled with newspaper clippings, reviews of triumphant concerts and accounts of galas over which she and her husband had presided. Bishops, priests, and civic leaders smiled with her from fading newsprint.
A daughter and I prayed by the matriarch’s bed and anointed her forehead and hands with oil. She glanced at her hands as the oil was smeared on them. She lifted her glistening palms into the air and smiled for a moment before she reached out to something again, paused, lowered her hands and began the plucking again.
Her daughter asked if there were anything more that I could do, something I could say that would ease her anxious mother. The daughter wept as she bowed to her mother and gently soothed her forehead. Tears flowed as she whispered words of comfort and spoke of undying affection. Her mother continued to move her lips without sound, to nod, and to pluck.
“She was a beauty in her day. She lived such a wonderful life and did so much good for so many people. Why is it so hard for her to die? Is she being punished for having been so successful?”
“Why would you think that?” I said. “Do you think God resents temporal success? Your mother was gifted and look what she did with those gifts.”
“That’s true. But look at her now, broken, empty, and wanting to die.”
“I don’t think either broken or empty. She has lived a long and full life. It’s not easy to die. She will determine the moment when everything is right and she is ready. She’s waiting for something. Or someone.
“Remember the parable Jesus told about the King who went on a journey? Before he left he gave various workers different sums to see what they would do with them while he was gone. He would exact an accounting from them upon his return. Well, he gave huge talents to your mother and she honed and tempered them and developed them to perfection. Think of the joy she brought to who knows how many?
“Do you remember what the King said to the successful stewards? What he says to your mother this afternoon. Well done, good and faithful servant. Come, enter your Master’s joy.”
I took a glass of water from her nightstand and held the straw to her lips. She looked at me for a moment. Her eyes seemed to focus and she smiled, nodded and sipped a bit before pushing the glass away. Then she pointed. But at what?
I read some verses from psalms and epistles and hoped for inspiration to find words that would comfort her daughter and make sense out of this moment. Paul admonished us to remember that we who were baptized were baptized into Christ’s death. The psalmist spoke confidently of needing nothing else besides the Lord who shepherded through dark and dangerous places and led to safe vales of lush green where banquets were set and waiting.
The words washed over us and the old woman seemed to listen and nod as though giving her assent. After a moment she pointed again and then with her extended finger summoned someone.
“What is it, Mama? What do you want? Who is it you are reaching for?”
An ebony cross with an ivory corpus attached peaked from beneath tissues crumpled and discarded on her nightstand. I picked up the crucifix and held it before her eyes. Both her arms extended in wide welcome and she smiled and whispered, “Yes!”
