Family . . . Foibles ! ! ! Forgiveness ? ? ?

MOM: Sandra Lee Weikum February 18, 1944. - June 29, 2025

                                   “It is the greatest statistic in the world; one out of every one dies.”                                                                                                                                                        George Bernard Shaw

                                   “War does not increase death, death is total in every generation.”                                                                                                                                                                                            C. S. Lewis
                                 “We face death every day,                                                                                         
 It’s the most democratic thing in the whole world that brings us all to the same level;                                                                    Everybody is going to die.”                                 Billy Graham
       
Around April 2024, unusual communiques began transpiring between mom and my siblings and me. The doctor’s dementia diagnosis propelled mom into a tailspin of terror.

She’d call repeatedly . . . day and night;
          Sometimes cognizant
                    Sometimes demented
                              Sometimes fumbling with her cell
                                        Sometimes disconnecting her calls
                    Sometimes asking for someone other than whom she’d actually dialed.

Her communications consisted of fears and faith, accusations and gratitude, confusion and tears, acceptance and anger, prayer and the universal, “Why?”
                                                                                 Her emotions ran the gamut.

She’d beg me, “Please, move to Montana and take care of me.”
     She’d advise me, “I’m moving to Alaska to live with you!”
          She’d plead with me, “Please, visit soon . . . before I die?”
                                                                                 My emotions ran the gamut.

My siblings shared of their own similar dramatic interactions with our mother.                                                                                                         And . . . their emotions ran the gamut.

After years of struggling from agoraphobia, mom started wandering. The police intervened when mom was discovered crouching behind a dumpster at a nearby restaurant - in her attempt to avoid ‘predators.’ The police assisted, at a neighbor’s request, when, in a state of confusion, mom locked herself out of her apartment. And the police picked up mom from alongside the road when she decided to walk from Montana back ‘home’ to Oregon.

As a myriad of unsettling events continued to occur, my siblings, two of my nieces (who work in health care industries) and I feverishly transmitted group texts and calls. Mom’s affairs were not in order, so it was left to us to wrestle weighty questions amongst ourselves: Power of Attorney, Longterm Care, Financing . . . needless to say, sentiments ran high.

I am the oldest of five sisters with our only brother sandwiched in the middle of all of us girls. We range in ages from our forties to our sixties, we reside in four different states and we’re all locked into routines and responsibilities, which made the logistics, of caring for our mother . . . daunting.

On a ‘normal’ day mom is, to put it mildly, a difficult person. She’s of a disagreeable mind always rushing to anger and accusations and guilting and shaming and issuing endless demands. Mom grew up in a violent atmosphere which set precedence for her own homemaking. In addition, mom’s addictions, along with the ‘proclivities’ of her numerous husband's and lover’s, served to exacerbate the dynamics of our family culture.

Between the six of us kids, we have four different fathers; only one of which stepped up to parent . . . the others fell off the grid. Mom struggled with conflicting hedonistic tendencies and convoluted religious concepts wherein she exhibited a dichotomous moral construct.

At very early ages, each of my siblings and I were either thrust from or we left our mother’s home. There is a fourteen year age difference between my youngest sister and me. Around about a year after my sister’s birth, mom asked me to sit with her at our kitchen table. She advised me that I was old enough to make my own way in life. She confided that she’d resolved to relinquish custody of two of my siblings to their father and she felt fairly certain he’d take one of my other sisters. She intended to give up my baby sister for adoption. But she puzzled over where to place my twelve year old sister.

The window of time that passed, between this life altering conversation and when mom did finally ‘move’ me out of her house, was filled with inconceivable stresses. In the midst of one of mom’s innumerable outbursts of rage, she armed me with a few items of clothing and sent me off into the world. With a ninth grade education, I began a new life; I quit school and started working days at Herfy’s Burgers and nights at Taco Bell. I slept on the living room floor of an empathetic soul who offered me the hospitality of a temporary shelter. And . . . the years that followed were frothed with difficulty — as was my relationship with my mother.

Around midlife, mom was diagnosed with mental illness. This illumination helped to slowly transform my resentments from a burden of bitterness into a more empathetic state of heart and mind as my traumatic childhood experiences began to take on some semblance of sense.

In mom’s 70s, her demeanor toward me began to shift. After years of mom setting matches to bridges and scoffing into the flames, an insurmountable loneliness shrouded her life. Mom’s looks no longer attracted a following and the apparent ‘comforts’ she derived from these entanglements. So, she started to reach out to me. We shared a tenuous relationship filled with nebulous boundaries and a patience that required my love express itself beyond the emotions she evoked.

After her dementia diagnosis, mom eventually moved into a Memory Care Facility where she received much needed assistance. However, this proved merely the beginning of a whole new set of challenges. As the disease ravaged, mom displayed aggressive behaviors where she cursed at staff and residents, destroyed property and threw fits of temper. Mom was removed from two different facilities and when she was placed in the third and final Care Unit, they had her so heavily medicated, mom literally could not even hold up her head.

During our last conversation, when mom still had some cognition, she cried and between sobs begged me to visit. After flying home from this last work assignment, I loaded up my car and drove from Alaska to Montana where I found my mother in a near catatonic state. Left in soiled diapers and dirty cloths and drooling and shaking and stinking - negligence of mom’s care was evident! Family feuding broke out, confrontations with staff ensued, tensions ran high!
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                                       "Above all, keep fervent in your love for one another,
                                                 because love covers a multitude of sins.”      
                                                                                                                                     1 Peter 4:8

                                       “What did mom ever do for us!?! Aside from giving us life?”

I contemplated this question as I did not have a ready answer. I could relate with my sister’s accusation. However, recanting mom’s attributes had never worked for me in transforming my bitterness; my world view realigned my perspective and helped me to release mom from expectations she just could not meet. Whether mom was right or whether she was wrong was irrelevant.

For my own mental health, my own personal development, my own spiritual growth . . . there was no other option for me, I had to forgive mom. By releasing her, I freed myself. I stopped expecting mom to be motherly toward me, I accepted reciprocity would not ever be a part of our relationship and I learned to love mom on a deeper level.

Mom died Sunday. My brother called me to let me know and we both cried for our mother and over our own personal loss. Tears come to my eyes even now as I write. I grieve for the life I think my mother could have had, for the fractured relationships and collateral damage she left behind and I grieve because my mother is no longer here. She was a part of my life, even with all of the challenges she brought to our relationship. 

For most, family is a gloriously, messy community synonymous with forgiveness - that's the deal this side of heaven. And . . . it can be said my mother required a lot of it. But then, when I look into my own heart and reflect upon the errors in judgment I've made along my own life's journey, I find that I too may have needed a bit of forgiveness a time or two from those I love. 

Imperfect as she was, my mother taught me faith. Though she did not walk out her faith in Christ with absolute trust, her gift has helped me navigate the troubled waters of life. My mother was a beautiful woman who loved to sing and dance and write and create art. Today she is in heaven and I can imagine she is dancing and singing before the God of creation who has kindly and lovingly welcomed her home. I love you, mom. I will see you again someday and I look forward to that joy.