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“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.” ― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy
The passing of my dear friend Tucker McHugh pained me deeply and compelled me to revisit (and re-experience) an earlier thought.
The Unclimbable Mountain — The final mountain that one day we all must encounter.
I remember vividly my mother’s last mountain. It was in the final days of her life when she realized she had no more climbs left in her.
Surrendering to eternity was her only option.
At the time I asked myself, could I surrender like that? I didn’t know — I still don’t.
It seems like many mountains we encounter in the prime of life are climbable — hard maybe, but usually climbable.
Our mountains serve to make us stronger, sometimes even wiser.
We regale in our mountaintop experiences.
- mountains we’ve conquered
- summits we’ve peaked
- trails we’ve blazed
But then we encounter an unclimbable mountain.
For every one of us there exist mountains we will never climb.
From the beginning of time the Creator designed it that way.
- Some mountains are meant to be approached only on bended knee
- Some mountains are meant only for surrender
On the eve of my mother’s passing in April, 1991 I was with her.
I sat:
- holding her hand
- stroking her brow and
- staring at her beautiful face
We remembered together the times of her life: her hardscrabble childhood in Wyoming; enduring the poverty brought on by the Great Depression; her work with Japanese internees during World War II; her trials managing five children born in six years; and, of course, her tragic widowhood at age 45.
But throughout my mother’s life she faithfully climbed most of her mountains.
- not that she didn’t stumble
- not that she faced up to every challenge
But when all is said and done, she acquitted herself well in life, faced her mountains with steely-eyed determination and was a good and faithful servant. She was no doubt due the blessings accorded any soul who’d been true to their calling.
At the end of my visit Mother was uncharacteristically quiet.
The lines on her brow were gone and she had the look of someone in perfect repose — perfectly ready — for whatever was about to happen.
But, as it turned out, I wasn’t ready.
I wanted her to march up that mountain one last time and live to see another day. But she knew different. She knew it was over.
And the is truth is, I did too.
The journey awaiting her was one she’d travel alone. All I could do was look into her tired eyes, lock in on a silent embrace, and let her aloneness engulf us both.
- What she was feeling, she was feeling — alone.
- Where where she was going, she was going, — alone.
- The mountain awaiting her was hers — alone.
The picture has been burned into my memory for all time.
Many minutes passed before I asked her, “Are you ready to go, Mom?”
She nodded, I kissed her, said goodbye, and left.
That was the last time I ever saw my mother.
Remember —
Endings need not be happy to be good. Not if they’re true.
***
I’d like to transform this thought from one of the mind to one of the heart.
Listen along with me to this Marty Robbins recording of You Gave Me a Mountain, a song filled with raw pathos, unfiltered emotion, and that captures well the feeling of facing an unclimbable mountain.
To hear the music accompanying this post: Click here, then scroll down.
Just a thought…
Pat