Yes, I wrote it the evening before I presented it. It's not because I'm a procrastinator (although I am exceptionally good at that). It was just that I had absolute confidence that God would give me the words, put together in the perfect way, to honor my mom.
From my friends' reactions, it did. Amen and amen.
Once upon a time, there was a little red flower growing in a field. She was surrounded by beautiful daisies, vivid wildflowers, and bright violets. When the golden summer sun warmed the earth, people came to the field to laugh and walk and enjoy the weather. Those people picked the daisies, and the wildflowers, and the violets. But after each visit, the little red flower was left in the field, wondering why she wasn’t chosen. Perhaps the caterpillars had chewed holes in her leaves, or her petals weren’t as pretty as the others. Her only friends were the bees that buzzed around her, gathering pollen for their hives. As summer faded into fall, the little red flower prepared to sleep for the winter. She took a final look around her the lonely, empty field – the daisies and wildflowers and violets had all been called beautiful and given new homes. Winter came and went, and when the spring sunshine woke her, the little red flower’s blossoms opened again. Immediately, the bees rushed to greet her. This spring, however, there were more visitors than there had ever been. The little red flower apologized, believing that she couldn’t possibly have enough pollen for every last one of them. The bees laughed, and said they would visit the rest of her family, too. The little red flower didn’t understand until she looked past the bees into the field around her. It was full of little red flowers, just like her, smiling in the sun and waving back at her. During her lonely winter sleep, the little red flower’s roots had spread, taking the place of the daisies, and the wildflowers, and the violets that had been chosen instead of her. The little red flower would never be alone again.
That fable
is adapted from a short story written by Cynthia Marie Thielet. I share it because I want to point out that there
is a difference between the facts of
her life, and the truths of it.
The fact is that my mother was born on
January 27, 1955, to Andrew and Margaret Kuskil. She grew up in and around Carnegie and
Bridgeville. Her childhood had its happy
moments – visits to Cape Canaveral, carnivals, picnics and other adventure –
but the truth is that much of her
childhood was very difficult and fraught with physical and verbal abuse.
The facts are that my mother married, had
two daughters, and divorced. The truth is that my mother had the strength
to keep from passing on the abuse to her own children, and broke a cycle of
violence that had lasted for generations.
The truth is that my mother
worked tirelessly at minimum-wage jobs to support my sister and myself. It was not uncommon for her to come home from
work with burns on her arms from the chemicals she used at the dry cleaners, or
from the hot oil she used as a grill cook.
The truth is that my mother
put her daughters before her own social life, mostly keeping close with only a
few trusted friends but rarely going out with them. The truth
is, she sometimes had a temper…and the truth
is, my sister and I knew how to push her buttons. The truth
is, with God’s help, after the divorce my mom eventually found other ways to
love my father, even though they had fallen out of love with each other.
The fact is that she struggled with illness
that eventually left her unable to work a conventional job, and she ended up
moving to Kentucky as a live-in- caretaker for an elderly man. The truth
is that his family quickly adopted her as their own, and always saw her more as
a beloved sister than a nurse or a maid.
The truth is that my mother
didn’t know how to live unless she was serving other people. When everything else in her life seemed to
fall apart – her marriage, her relationships, her health – she fell back on her
role as a caretaker. It had become her
identity and it gave her strength.
The fact is that, in the little personal
time she had, my mother wrote poems and short stories, and humorous letters
filled with silly drawings and sketches.
The truth is that my mother
herself was the little red flower in her story, never entirely confident in her
own abilities, but unknowingly creating family wherever she went.
There were a
few common threads in the tapestry of her life – threads that spanned the whole
58 years. One of them was an unmatched
love for animals. Her sister Theresa,
who is quite ill herself and unable to be here today, shared with me a story of
my mother rescuing frozen puppies in the dead of winter. She also told me of the intense loyalty her
sister inspired in her pets – on one occasion, her miniature terrier, Tiny,
went after a German Shepherd that attacked my mom. Tiny, although severely injured, survived –
no doubt due to the great care she received!
I frequently
joke that my mother was like Disney’s Snow White, especially in the scene where
all the woodland creatures come flocking to her. During her life, Mom rescued or raised cats,
dogs, fish, rabbits, parakeets, chickens, baby robins, hummingbirds, a horse,
and at least one groundhog – that I am aware of. When I was a child, neighbors came to our
house with strays, asking if my mom could help.
In most cases, she helped by adopting them! We were never without at least two or three
animals in the house. She truly had a
God-given gift that allowed her to understand them in a way that most of us
cannot. Although she never did figure out how to get them to do
housework – maybe that does only
happen in the movies.
Another
thread that was woven throughout my mother’s fifty-eight years was a quiet
faith in God. She was raised Catholic
and inexplicably turned away from the religion when she was thirteen – but she
never turned away from God himself. When
she left Pittsburgh for Kentucky, I felt that I had failed as a daughter – she
had raised me but I was not able to take care of her in return. Little did I know that God was beginning for
my mom a beautiful season of healing. In
Kentucky, among her new family and friends, she found peace and forgiveness –
mostly, I believe, she finally learned to forgive herself for the mistakes
she’d made over the years. It was only
during this time that my relationship with her was the one I had always wanted
– we spoke more regularly than we had before, and we spoke with more affection
and laughter than we had in many, many years.
We exchanged stories about our pets, and she sent me toys for my two
cats. We wrote to each other, and I did
teach her how to send text messages. As
she was writing to me, I learned that she had also begun writing to my dad’s
side of the family –her former in-laws.
When my parents divorced, my mom allowed herself to grow distant from
his family. I believe it was a way of
protecting herself. For several years, I
mentioned them infrequently to her, for fear of opening a wound. Yet, in his wisdom, God took her physically
away from them, and allowed her heart to once again draw near to them. After a time, she started to write to them,
sending the same silly doodles and funny letters she was sending to me. And, in the end, I believe my mother made
peace with the rest of my family, and, more importantly, with herself.
It is not
for this reason alone that I know my mother is in Heaven right now. She was a good woman who worked hard. She was a fierce Mama Bear who protected her
children the best she could. She was a
loyal and faithful supporter to those people she called friends. But none of those wonderful attributes
ensured her place in paradise. My mother
was not religious in a conventional way – but she loved her Jesus. In fact, although my mother was not a
church-goer, I believe that her servant’s heart and humble spirit spoke for
Jesus in a far louder voice than her weekly presence in a pew ever could. She loved to read her Bible. In her last years, I believe she began to
understand what it meant to really put something in God’s hands – after all,
she was several hours away from her daughters and couldn’t do much for us but
pray. Of course, we know that prayer is
a powerful weapon, and one of my mother’s last tasks on this earth, I believe,
was to learn how to fight with it. The
letters she wrote to my husband and me were full of encouraging prayers and
even poems about God’s love.
In an equally encouraging letter about God’s love, the apostle
Paul talks to his friends about the truth of death for the believer. This is the Message translation of 1
Thessalonians 4:13. “And
regarding the question, friends, that has come up about what happens to those
already dead and buried, we don’t want you in the dark any longer. First off,
you must not carry on over them like people who have nothing to look forward
to, as if the grave were the last word. Since Jesus died and broke loose from
the grave, God will most certainly bring back to life those who died in Jesus. And
then this: We can tell you with complete confidence—we have the Master’s word
on it—that when the Master comes again to get us, those of us who are still
alive will not get a jump on the dead and leave them behind. In actual fact,
they’ll be ahead of us. The Master himself will give the command. Archangel
thunder! God’s trumpet blast! He’ll come down from heaven and the dead in
Christ will rise—they’ll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at
the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh,
we’ll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with
the Master. So reassure one another with these words.”
And so, yes, I have hope. I mourn
because I have lost my mother – and you, who have come today, mourn with my
family. I speak for my whole family when
I say that we thank you for your love, your prayers, and your presence here
with us during this time of sadness. But
I cannot mourn for my mother. She is with her Savior, whose love and
sacrifice she accepted and who has already welcomed her to her eternal
rest. She is with her three
grandchildren, who went before her into the arms of Christ. She is celebrating with the countless others
who have opened their eyes in glory, to find that their earthly pain, fear, and
sorrows are gone in the all-consuming light of God’s love.
The fact is that my mother passed
away on February 8, 2013. The truth is that she is alive and whole in
Heaven, and she is in my future. She is
in the future of all who have received Christ’s love. Those of you who knew Cindy will see her again. And those who have yet to meet her…I think
you’ll like her quite a bit.
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