With just one word An adult daughter finds 'Mommy' the only word to utter at her mother's death Words and names have power. We learn early on that words can both hurt and heal, and we know that names create and reflect bonds of great depth. The word “death” has such power that it can banish all other words away.
Yet on Oct. 3, 2005—the day my mother died—my capacity for language deserted me. As the medical team worked on her, my husband and I stood outside the hospital room, his arms holding me tightly. The staff allowed us in the room as they continued their work, and I knelt by the bed with my head on my mother’s arm, repeating, “Oh, God ….” It was an invocation. It was a prayer. It was an entreaty. It was all I could manage to pull from a lifetime storehouse of words about and to God. What I was really saying, of course, was, “Oh, Abba. I am so afraid and helpless. I don’t know much else right now, but I know you are here. Whatever your will might be, give me strength to face it.” But all I could say was, “Oh, God ….” After Mom died, I spent a few minutes alone with her. In that quiet, as the late afternoon shadows pushed into the room, I saw the still, silent form of one who taught me so much, who essentially raised me alone, who just the day before had stroked my hair as I sat at her bedside—weary after a morning of church but needing to be there. Now all I could do was lay my head on her chest and say, “Oh, Mommy …” repeatedly through my tears. I hadn’t called my mother “Mommy” since elementary school, but in that moment it was all I could utter. What I was saying, of course, was, “Oh, Mom, I know where you are now, but this hurts so much. Who will I call when I need a boost, when I need to vent, when I just need to hear love? Why didn’t I tell you more often how much I loved you?” But all I could say was, “Oh, Mommy .…” And yet, what else could I have said in those moments? What else did I really need to say? Weren’t those names—those deep, heartfelt expressions of love, trust and intimate relationship—enough? Jesus knew the power of calling out to a loving parent. He prayed using that address, teaching and encouraging us to think of God in this way whenever we pray. He invited us to turn to God without fear or doubt—as a child comes to a good and loving parent with complete trust, or as one who has never known such love but longs to call out and be heard. The intimacy of that address doesn’t diminish the holiness or “otherness” of God. Rather, it’s our naked plea for God to listen to us as beloved children knowing God will respond—in various ways—to our cry. If prayer is a way of putting faith into action, eloquence matters little. One word, even a name spoken from deep hope and trust, is enough to communicate a whole volume of need and fear, thanks and joy. How good it is to know that God loves us so much and knows us so well that we can open our hearts in prayer with just one word. |
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