My Praying Mother

My Praying Mother…
My mother is battling dementia – and it kills me. I cannot ever communicate our relationship in words – too many memories flood through my mind. Words – maybe – would be the best way to describe our relationship. Short words.
Mother was…
My cheerleader
My rock
My friend
My advocate
My prayer warrior
She was the voice in my head saying I could do something – and the voice that said I could do it better.
When we both lost our souls – it was my mother, after three years in our wilderness – that I called when an Irish Monsignor saved my life. He offered me something I so wanted- forgiveness, redemption, and peace. He extended that same invite to my mother – and she converted the same day as I did, to the Catholic faith.
Mother, even in our wilderness years, always prayed. When I felt unworthy and ceased communications with Christ, it was Mother who kept praying. Praying that I would find peace – her too – but always me – always Anne – would be first.
I was first -and she second. Mother always thought that way – when I became a mother, I
learned it would be Ian first – and I second.
Years pass. Decades. Now, my mother has good days and bad. I’m not the best of daughters, having to take a job to re-enter my field to complete my retirement – and I moved four hours away. My brother and father remain her caregivers – I talk to her daily, sometimes twice. I get frustrated – because I no longer have Mom as Mom was.
But she’s still there.
I was very ill with food poisoning AND a stomach bug this week (yes, they can happen, one after the other) and as I lay so ill, my father called and left a message on my cell phone. He told the story of how my mother came up to him, grabbed his hand, and said,
“We must pray for our daughter…” and she did.
This is my mother –
Mother is…
My cheerleader
My rock
My friend
My advocate
My fighter.
After I recovered, I wasn’t sure how to thank her – would I have my mother – the feisty redhead or the mother who is confused so often. When I called her tonight, she was confused, but I thanked her for praying for me. “I remember,” she told me, “You had a stomach bug on top of bad food – only you, Anne. Only you.”
Sometimes, I need to remember the greatest gift Mother ever gave to me: faith – to pray – for people when they are hurting and sick. She is my praying mother.MOTHERS

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