How Did I Do?

In my last post, now almost half a year ago, I realized that that tables had turned, at least somewhat, on me and my Mom as I sat at the foot of her hospital bed. What I did not know then was that, while I did not expect it to be the beginning of the end for her, it actually was. I thought on more than one occasion of things I could write, but they never turned into anything worthy of sharing. So I remained silent for these almost six months.

So on Sunday, November 4, only two days from her 73rd birthday, she breathed her last breath after walking a downward path of failing health until the last three weeks or so were spent entirely in bed. Yesterday, prior to going to the funeral, I wrote the following. I’m sure that, had I taken more time, there might be better things to say, but this is what came out and I share it with you.

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The visitors had all gone. The room was virtually empty except for my wife & I. I stood by the open casket containing the now lifeless body of my mother, once again not knowing what I might say. All that I could think of was “thank you.”

As we began to leave, I was reminded of the closing scenes in the movie, “Saving Private Ryan.” Captain Miller has led a small patrol through enemy lines to find a paratrooper, Private Ryan, who has been ordered home by the Army because his three older brothers have already died in the war. Just as rescue for Ryan and the small patrol is imminent, Miller is severely wounded, and as he is dying, Ryan comes to his side. Miller calls him close and says one thing. “Earn this. Earn it.” Ryan then stands up, and as he faces Miller, his face morphs to a much older man standing over the cross marking Miller’s grave. He says a few things, then is joined by his wife who he asks how he has done — in paraphrase, “how did I do?”

Over the years, my Mom and I had differences. But we were always family. I was always impressed that no matter what happened, she always loved us all dearly. As my brother, sister, and I spent some time contemplating what should be included in her tribute, I was impressed to add something. My brother had accurately stated how much she loved her eight grandchildren. But it was more. I said this out loud to my sister, Linda. I knew that she would agree.

Then she related to me a story I had never heard. When she was still in school, every day, when the last bell rang, she went out the front door and there was my mother in her car, waiting to take her home. It was always right outside the door — never far off to the left or right. Linda never gave it much thought. That was just the way it was. Many years later when she was about 29, she asked Mom to help her do something at her work. She agreed to help, but stated that at a certain time she would need to leave to pick up my younger son, Philip, from school. Linda said something like, “it will be OK if you are a few minutes late.” My Mom said “No. My grandchildren should never walk out of their school and not find someone waiting for them.” At that, my sister hung up the phone, broke down and cried in an office full of people.

Now, as we gather at 1 pm today to take her empty body from the funeral home to the place it will rest, I have the sense that I have been charged to “earn this.” I have many more years, and many tools at my disposal, including a wonderful wife, Christian friends, the Word of God, and His life in me. I pray that when it is time for my reckoning, that I can do better than ask “how did I do.”