Pounding the floor. I cried. “She can’t die. I want her to live.” Turning my face I lay my left cheek on the carpet and yelled, ” Give her another decade. Take two of mine. Please. Please. Pleaseeeeeeeee could I get what I want? Its not like I’m being selfish. I just want her to live. We, We.…”
Rolling my head face down I breathed in the berber carpet as it pressed into the space between my lips.
In fetal position I brought my knees up near my tummy and rubbed the place I imagined the baby to be growing.
“I’m going to be a crappy mother without her. So please, please God, give her at least a decade and in exchange I’ll give you a couple decades of my life.”
The bedroom door swung open, “Have you lost your mind”
“I’m talking to God.”
Sitting down on the floor next to me, my husband of five and half years stroked my back.“Did you just offer God a couple decades of your life for a decade of living for your mom?”
“Maybe.” I admitted.
“Pleaseeeeee stop that.”
Shaking my head violently I refused. “I thought, I thought once we, we got pregnant, she’d live...”
His hand stalled in the middle of my back. “I know babe, I know, so did I…”
I needed to somehow get GOD to give me control, I didn’t need control of everything. Just this situation. He had to. My mom could not die. She was my best friend. My boss. My mother. She was the woman who had drug me to church every Sunday of my life, the woman who’d once slapped me across the face with a spatula just out of the frying pan. The woman who’d made me believe I was just as important as any boy in the world and as smart. The person who had taught me everyone was the same regardless of what color they were or what they owned or did for a living. She was the person I needed most in the world. And the person who least deserved to be full of cancer and to have it growing in side her brilliant brain. I needed to get what I wanted. And I wanted her to live. I’d gladly give up a couple decades- heck God could take me when he took her if he wanted I just wanted to get my way and I wanted her to live.
Can I Please Have It My Way? Control
I can remember this day with such clarity its as if the berber carpet fibers are still in my mouth. And no, I didn’t get my way. I wasn’t in control. Never have been- never will be. Clearly. I begged. Bargained. I negotiated day and night with God and still my favorite person died when she was barely 51. Nine months later I gave birth to a little girl, a little girl who would become her namesake and a daily reminder of God’s amazing grace. Death and birth. Loss and gain. Tragedy and a miracle. All squished together in one year of my life. It was the year I learned quite clearly that I’m not in control and that God doesn’t bargain with anyone when its time for one of his children to move on. You’d think twenty some years later I’d have learned my lesson but just yesterday and a couple times last week I worked to control the downside of life and mitigate any face plants or heart wounds. Control. Whenever I attempt to get it I’m clearly fearful and insecure. I’d like to be so faithful and trusting I never try to wrestle control from God and write the story of other people’s lives as well as mine. But that would be fiction. So today- I’m here realizing that control is the idol that I sometimes bow down to when I’ve lost connection with my power source- the GOD of this universe. Trusting. Believing and having faith is how I want to respond to fear when it visits my heart and soul but somedays I do exactly the opposite and try to control everything that is none of my business. Dear Lord- help me to trust you. To believe. And to walk faithfully into the unknown even when I feel like an emotional P.OW. that would really like to control something, anything to make sure she doesn’t end up landing on another emotional land mine.