Her Eyes

I am a dreamer by night, not usually by day. I have dreams of people and places, decisions, emotional dreams, spiritual dreams. I have dreams of my Mom.

This has happened many times before, but is often infrequent, perhaps similar to how my thoughts are of Mom from time to time. It may sound strange to the reader, but just as friends disappears from your everyday life and you don’t think of them as much, so does my Mom disappear from my thoughts quite often. She is not always on the forefront. Yet she is so deep within me that when I leave her presence, I often cry for the rest of the day.

Back to my dream. There she sat in her wheelchair and I next to her, longing for something more than her closed eyes and clutched hands. Some kind of communication. Some type of exchange. Then, something different happened. I saw her again, standing above her frail body, looking down upon herself. Healthy Mom, expressive Mom, talkative Mom, eyes-looking-at-me-Mom. There she was. And she looked at me and smiled, as if we hadn’t seen each other in such a long time. It was almost a look of pride, of affection, of all I hope to see in her when I visit. I was moved. And then she looked down and saw herself. She was almost shocked, saddened. She looked at me, trying to understand. I stared back at her puzzled eyes, and then I woke up.

I kept my eyes closed for a while that morning, staring at her face till I could not longer see it. I held on, trying to get back in that dream to perhaps have a conversation or just to look at her eyes again. But instead I was reminded of life now, of my dear husband next to me in bed, my daughter in the next room, and the day about to dawn. I was reminded of Mom’s reality. And I was reminded of the goodness of God to each of us in that reality. He has been so kind.

I told my sister the other day that I never miss Mom more than when I see her now. It’s painful. It’s all that I envisioned it to be. It’s the staring at blank, closed eyes. It’s the seeing her body change so drastically. It’s the watching saliva drip down from her lips and knowing her diaper needs to be changed or nails need to be trimmed. It’s the not having her know my daughter. It’s the not being able to pick up the phone and call her just to chat. It’s the missing her laugh and voice and tenderness. It’s that and so much more.

But I’m thankful for the dream for through it I remember her again. I want to dream a little more. How I miss her! How I miss those early Alz days when she was the most precious person you’d ever come to know. How gracefully she’s handled Alzheimer’s, by the grace of God. How He’s sustained her! And I know He sustains each of us. And I see how He’s working in our family because of Mom’s Alz. He is sovereign, faithful, and so glorious.

Far better than having her look into my eyes is knowing that one day soon, she will behold Him and see Him in all His glory! Even so, “Come, Lord Jesus!”