"Death is not a wall, but a door."
---Dr. Peter Marshall (1902-1949), U.S. Senate Chaplain
Fortunately the memory has faded, that of losing my mother Margie Nell Brumfield Ellzey (1925-2011) most unexpectedly a decade and a half ago next week. We were at the beauty parlor one day and at the hospital the next. Her earthly end was right around the bend. We just didn't know it. But it's always later than we think. Death is inevitable; sooner or later it comes for all. My dear dad, the late Col. (ret) Cecil Ellzey (1919-1999), often quoted Benjamin Franklin, "The only two sure things in life are death and taxes."
Knowing this certainly didn't make parting any easier. An only child, I was joined at the hip from an early age with both my mother and father. Not a week went by that I wasn't grateful for them. Patient people, they had waited on my arrival nearly 20 years. Sure, it made both a lifetime older than the average parents in that day, but I was beholden to them. And spending time in the company of their generation gave me a different outlook on life. I only wish that I had known them sooner.
From the time I was knee high to a grasshopper, I feared losing my mom and dad. But I was blessed - Momma and Daddy saw me to adulthood. By the time my dad's terminal diagnosis of renal cell cancer came in the spring of 1999, I was in my mid-30’s - a wife and mother.
Still, I was Daddy's little girl. I weathered the loss with as much courage as I could muster, knowing that I had to be strong for my mother. Then, the unthinkable happened. Fast forward ten months to May of 2000 when Momma had her own brush with death. Two parents gone in less than a year's time would have been unbearable. God doesn't give us more than we can handle. Accordingly, He gifted us another eleven wonderful years, together.
And with Momma in our home for this extraordinary era, I became even more attached. We all - my husband Rodney, daughter Betsy, and I - did. And my closest friends came to know and love "Miss" Margie Nell. She became a central part of our world. Not only was Momma at the heart of our home, but she ventured everywhere with us, from Charleston in the east to the Grand Canyon out west. And while she had her own living quarters and came and went as she pleased, cane in hand, we became quite accustomed to living with, and learning from, her. We discovered that there was nothing like three generations living under one roof.
Our own utopia until one summer's day, Mom was gone - just like that. As I often say, nothing lasts forever, but still I was shattered. We were told that it was an easy exit for her, if there is such a thing, but it certainly was difficult for us who were left behind. Rodney and I were sitting with Momma, who was of strong faith, in her hospital room. Yet, we didn't get the chance to even say good-bye. Our grief, and mourning, postponed. It came in the months and years that followed.
I'm not sure anyone ever gets over the loss of his or her mother, but I can say with certitude that it took a long time for me to endure the passing of mine. I took solace in family, friends, and prayer. And I relied on Scripture. While I knew Momma was in Heaven, I felt lost without her. We had been together 24/7, either in her home or mine, for more than a decade. Our house had emptied overnight - so much so that I could hardly be in it, without her. Her absence overwhelmed, and the silence was deafening.
It would take time for healing to happen and appreciation to take root. Friends were adamant that they wanted to go like Margie, 86 years young. In the presence of her family, she was sitting, chatting --- sharp as a tack one minute and gone the next. Graduation, as the late Dr. Peter Marshall (Chaplain of the U. S. Senate) - who was revered by Momma - had referred to it.
Devastated during those early days of mourning, I found pen and paper my pal. And that is how I discovered the perfect piece. It was exactly as if it felt my pulse. I would be surprised if the writing didn't resonate with others. Irish poet and philosopher John O'Donohue's comforting poem, follows:
For Grief
When you lose someone you love,
Your life becomes strange,
The ground beneath you gets fragile,
Your thoughts make your eyes unsure;
And some dead echo drags your voice down
Where words have no confidence.
Your heart has broken heavy with loss;
And though this loss has wounded others too,
No one knows what has been taken from you
When the silence of absence deepens.
Flickers of guilt kindle regret
For all that was left unsaid or undone.
There are days when you wake up happy;
Again inside the fullness of life,
Until the moment breaks
And you are thrown back
Onto the black tide of loss.
Days when you have your heart back,
You are able to function well
Until in the middle of work or encounter,
Suddenly with no warning,
You are ambushed by grief.
It becomes hard to trust yourself.
All you can depend on now is that
Sorrow will remain faithful to itself.
More than you, it knows its way
And will find the right time
To pull and pull the rope of grief
Until that coiled hill of tears
Has reduced to its last drop.
Gradually, you will learn acquaintance
With the invisible form of your departed;
And, when the work of grief is done,
The wound of loss will heal
And you will have learned
To wean your eyes
From that gap in the air
And be able to enter the hearth
In your soul where your loved one
Has awaited your return
All the time.
Eventually, I was done with the doldrums. Momma had been with me - a perennial presence - all the while.
