A Distant Perspective

Harmony here (in New Zealand). I asked if I could write a guest post, from a distant perspective.

Time and time again since mom’s diagnosis, it’s been said to me, “It must be so hard to be so far away during this time.” Yes. And no.

Yes, it’s been hard. Yes, I often wish I could just go sit with mom for an hour. Many times, especially in the first few years, I felt like I was sitting here in my corner of the world, bored, while everyone else was so busy and struggling to find time to help mom. I couldn’t help but feel like it was so unfair. I should be there doing stuff. Instead, I was here, not able to do anything.

But I would never say that it’s been harder to be far away than for those that live close. Honestly, I can often “forget” that my mom is sick. We’d Skype regularly, and frankly, we’d both be at our best. We’d both be smiling. We would both only show our faces, so I could never see the physical ailments. Also, because I can’t go help, I also haven’t had to change my life. My siblings are forced to juggle their careers, their families, and find time to help where needed. All I have to do is pick up my ipod once in a while and Skype. So, while I feel helpless that I can’t go, I also don’t have to sacrifice anything to help.

One of the hardest things about living so far away is that I feel like I was constantly asking, “Should I come?” Often the information that I received was filtered: filtered through positive thoughts; filtered through a mother wanting to protect her kids; filtered through just not knowing what questions to ask; filtered through not really wanting to know the answers. However, that often made it difficult to truly discern what was going on.

When mom was first diagnosed, it was scary. At first, I just knew mom wasn’t feeling well. Then she was going through tests. Then they thought it might be cancer. Then she started chemo. I wanted a timeline. I wanted a number. Was it Stage 1? Stage 4? Did she have a month? Five years? Where was it? What was going on?

Should I come?

Each time that mom started chemo again, I asked again, “Is it time, should I come?”

Over the past four years, I’ve been blessed beyond measure that I’ve been able to go four times. The first time was a fun surprise visit for just two weeks for me and Kelsey. The second time was when Morgan was five months old, during mom’s birthday, my birthday and mother’s day. That was the year the lilac bush was in full bloom. We came again one year later, also for mother’s day, mom’s birthday and my birthday. And finally, two years later, we came to introduce Owen and to say good bye. In May this year, mom went into the hospital and I was forced to ask again, “Should I come?”

The last visit was hard. Not lying. However, it was also a bit surreal. Everyone had been praying that mom would have a good visit with us, and frankly, she was doing so well (or just presented a brave front) that it was hard to really believe that this would probably be the last hug with my mom on this side of heaven.

But that’s just it. I will see my mom again. This life is just temporary. This is just my temporary home. We are all just visitors here. Like a great long holiday. And I know where my eternal home is. I serve a Great God who’s promised me that he’s preparing a home for me. I know that he’s putting the finishing touches on my mom’s new home. I imagine that the angels are busy making sure the lupins are blooming (they’ll never actually die), the lilac bush is smelling, well, heavenly, and the birds are perched perfectly singing His praises. I imagine the golden sidewalks are being polished and Jesus is about to welcome my mom with open arms. She’ll be pain free, and she’ll never again think she’s fat but will know how beautiful she really is. She’ll be able to dance and sing and play amazing music without needing to read the music.

So, is it hard to be so far away? Yes. And No. What is distance anyway? After all, at the moment we’re only an ocean apart and I know that my mom loves me more than the ocean. But even more than that, I know that my God’s loves for me is unfathomably more than the ocean. And nothing can separate us from that love, not even death. I’ll see you again, Mom, in our eternal home.