..and the day I became a motherless daughter.
I cried in Dad's arms five times and probably at least another five times by myself. At one point, during that longest day ever, I stretched myself on Mom's side of their bed, where she'd been just three days prior. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted her to come back. I didn't know how sick Mom was or maybe I did and just in teenage denial.
On this day in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke of shame. How things of your past are great canidates for shame. How Satan reminds you of these things and tell you how you're not worthy. The shame occurs when you believe the words Satan's spews. Yes, you will always have struggles as you journey to your blessings, that's where Satan's really wants to latch on, so you can fail. God wants to see how you react. If you can handle what HE has instore for you.
After Mom died, I felt so unworthy of many things. I trace alot, if not all, back to that 1971 day. As an adult, I realized when I was a kid, didn't think I was as special as somebody with a Mom. My Dad adored me, as did the rest of my family, but I wonder since I missed out on something--was I worthy enough? Satan had a grip on me. I know that now. I felt shame over my Mom's death. I carried guilt that I could have prevented it--if I just opened my mouth.
Mom wanted to have weight loss surgery. She wasn't a Half Ton Mom, like you see on TV, far from it. Yet she wanted it, to escape her 300 pounds yo-yo dieting, especially due to the success her sister and my 17 year old cousin seemed to have. On a June day, the doctor gave the final OK for surgery. Mom was euphoric. Mom held me close as she nearly skipped with joy from the doctor's office. Mom shouted how this time next year, how thin she would be.
A boulder slammed in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to scream "NO! Don't do it!" But I didn't.
Three months later, after several complications, Mom died of yellow liver atrophy.
Our family doctor told me he advised Mom not to have it. My dad told me over and over, how Mom wanted this surgery and it didn't matter what anybody said. Dad, also said through the years, to not to feel guilty--how Mom wouldn't want me to. That's alittle easier said than done.
In service today, Pastor Rush said how words from those that are suppose to love you causes shame too. Explains alot. Especially when my step-mother would inform me how I didn't quite measure up to being the best daughter or that a man would want me because I didn't cook enough. After Mom died, I so longed for a mother figure. I settled for hurtful words to get what I thought I wanted.
I didn't wait for God to work it out, as Pastor Rush said. God had to put me in quarantine as He did His work on me. I skipped that step--ALOT, and tried to do it myself. In those cases, Satan roasted his marshmallows and had a good time. I know that now.
I'm not perfect, yet I see things more clearly now. I try to remember more memories of Mom---the good and the bad (she could spank in blink of an eye!). I was 13 when she died on this day in 1971. I think of how hard it was for Dad to wake his daughter and tell her Mommy was gone. So much we missed out on--our entire family.
Yet, I realize I am worthy. I always have been. God waited patiently for me to get there, even tho I wasn't so patient on myself. I still make mistakes. Sometimes I hear Satan whisper in my ear, but I don't hear him as much as I do. The beauty of being born with no left ear (microtia) so I turn to my left and all I 'hear' is hot air.
I celebrate Mom's life and continue with the dance our spirits still do today.
I am blessed.
Beginning to like this natural coiffure of mine. Always hated Mom to come thru my hair after a shampoo. Then to use a hot comb on it. The sizzle my hair made, when the hot comb fried the pressing grease, on it. Granted it was some of our best mother-daughter bonding time--like when I asked Mom what "screw" meant, which I pronounced like 'sku'--she stopped in mid comb of my hair, and asked where I'd heard it. 
