“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” ―
The passing of my father-in-law reopened an old wound of mine that had never healed. His death has caused me to relive a moment in my own mother’s passing some 30 years earlier — an experience I’ll never forget.
It reminded me how helpless I felt as I watched my mom in a nursing home, slowly suffocating from emphysema, just as I watched Charles slowly deteriorate from the relentless onslaught of dementia.
What was even more haunting was seeing the anguish in both of them as they struggled to reconcile themselves to their irrepressible fates.
They both had found a mountain they’d never climb.
It seems the hills we meet in life we climb, sometimes alone, sometimes in the camaraderie of shared experience. They may be hard. They may ultimately shape us into stronger, wiser people. But the big mountains, the really big ones, are of a different sort: solitary in nature, stunning in magnitude, places where only God knows the way up.
These are the unclimbable mountains we all must one day face.
I’ve come to realize how useless and cruel it is to pretend these mountains do not exist or to argue they aren’t what they are: mountains to which we must unconditionally surrender in humble acceptance of the sovereignty of God.
It was just over 30 years ago, in April of 1991, when my mother was in the waning days of her life. She was bed-ridden, her body no longer responding to her commands.
Mother had lived a hard life — the Great Depression, the Second World War, five children born in successive years, widowed at age 45. She had traversed her hills, not without stumbles, but with a faith and determination admired by many. Although Mother had an indomitable spirit the mountain she now faced was beyond her reach.
I remember vividly my last visit.
She lay helpless in her bed but not without a certain agitation that was always with Theresa. I could see her deep sadness in knowing her end was near and there was nothing she could do to change that.
Then a slow but decided resolve came over her and although I wanted to say, “Mom, we’ll climb this mountain together,” I knew that she knew such talk was cold comfort. She knew the journey awaiting her was one she’d take alone.
All I could do was look into her tired eyes, lock in on a silent embrace, and let the aloneness engulf us both.
- what she was feeling, she was feeling — alone
- where she was going, she was going — alone
- her mountain was hers, and hers — alone
The moment will be etched on my soul forever.
Many minutes passed before I simply asked her, “Are you ready, Mom?” She nodded. I kissed her, said goodbye and went on my way.
That was the last time I ever saw my mother.
I have friends facing their final mountains, but mountains don’t have to be our last to be unclimbable. Rather than sermonize on the moment I’d like to transform this reflection from one of the mind to one of the heart.
So listen along with me to this Marty Robbins recording of You Gave Me a Mountain.
It’s a song filled with raw, unfiltered emotion, and captures well the unclimbable mountain.
Endings need not be happy to be good — not if the ending is true.
What’s true is some mountains are not meant for climbing — only surrender.
Right?
Just a thought…
Pat
Copyright © 2021 Patrick J. Moriarty. All Rights Reserved.
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