The Mother Wound
Wait on
the Lord:
be of good
courage,
and he
shall strengthen thine heart:
wait, I
say, on the Lord.
--
Psalm 27:14
I've been
watching old home movies with my mom. We're transferring them from old Super
8's onto DVD's. We've laughed; we've cried; we've negotiated whether she gets
to cut the scene of her smoking a giant stogie if I get to cut the scene where
I'm acting dorky and my sister lets me have it with a sharp elbow.
There's a
reason I'm zeroing in on my mother in these old tapes. There's a reason I got
teary-eyed when she kissed me, in my little baby bonnet. The toys under all
those Christmas trees . . . the birthday parties . . . the vacations . . . all
show the work, love and sacrifice my mother devoted to rearing us four kids.
Not
everybody gets that birthright, good mothering, that wonderful foretaste of
heaven. When you don't, the consequences can be grave.
Someone
special, a friend in another city, killed herself last week. I think it had to
do with what they call "the mother wound." She put a deer rifle into her mouth,
and blew herself away. How could she? I think she had a big hole in her soul
because she never got what many of us take for granted: mother love.
Cheryl's
dad apparently was harsh, and hit her mother. A bloody handprint on a wall was
one of Cheryl's few childhood memories. When she was about 4, her parents
split. Her mother and sister moved away -- not just across town, but to another
country.
She saw her
mother again, once or twice, but that was about it.
Abandonment
has to be worse than growing up with an alcoholic mother, or a mean one, or one
who hits. Those leave wounds that, while terrible, can be healed. Absence, on
the other hand, creates a wound so large it becomes a void.
I think
Cheryl grew up wanting to fill that void. A teacher for 20 years, she was a
favorite for many students, probably because she gave what she didn't get: love.
When her
first marriage failed, she concentrated on rearing her two children, now young
teenagers. She was a good mother. Cautiously, she accepted attention from a suitor,
and after many years, she married him.
She
fiercely wanted a baby to unite the blended family. But a series of difficult
events, culminating in a miscarriage, plunged her into depression. She started
obsessing about that baby, whom she named Emily. She said a few times she
wanted to be with her. Several months ago, a suicide attempt using pills was
thwarted.
Medication
and counseling seemed to be helping. But recently, after two co-workers
announced their pregnancies, she toppled off the balance beam of rationality. A
frightening episode of erratic behavior ended with the terrible gunshot.
Ironically,
she now has abandoned her daughter and son, tragically convinced they'd be
better off without her.
And
everybody's tortured. Why did she do it? She was a good Christian. Why didn't
she trust God to make things better?
I think
it's because she didn't have the crucial "tapes" playing in her heart, that she
had a mother who loved her and would stay with her, no matter what.
That
security is a bridge to God's love. But even though He sent many others to show
her His love, she couldn't cross over. Instead, she blew up the bridge.
You know
those home movies, with my mother's radiant smile enfolding all of us kids? I
hope and pray that Cheryl is experiencing that perfect, boundless love for real
in heaven with Jesus, at last.
I hope and
pray, too, that each of us will build up mothers whenever we can, so they can
give their children what's priceless and eternal: self-worth, and an unshakable
belief that God will make everything all right, even if our own loved ones can't.
Especially then.
Everybody
needs those tapes of unfailing love to play in our darkest moments . . .
illuminated by the Light of the World. †
