“It’s often been said that “seeing is believing”, but in many cases, the reverse is also true. Believing results in seeing.”
It wasn't even the chocolate, as tasty as it was, that got me. No, not that. It was the Whitman's tiny yellow box that finally made me openly weep.
My mom used a box very similar to this one, when I was young, and put her bobby pins inside. It rested on the shelf next to the big Kentucky Fried Chicken Bucket, where her curlers resided. For years they laid on the orange paper-lined shelf in the bathroom.
The events from that day last week just could not be "boxed," or compartmentalized in my head any longer. The grief escaped in streaming tears, and heaving sides. I'd been storing up.
I had chemo earlier that day. It went fine. I was even up for visiting mom right afterwards. Her building is just blocks away from Roger Maris, where I go for treatment.
Mom was in her wheelchair, waiting, for a free haircut being done in a room down the hall. It had been months since she had it cut and was truly excited to have it done.
So when it was close to her turn I was shown where to push mom, down the hall, outside of a storage room with a sink, where the stylist was working.
Her exasperation in having mom show up, flashed across her face instantly. "Mary Ann, are you wanting a haircut, too?"
Mom says, "Well I think its been a few weeks."
"No," the woman says, "Its been months, and you are long overdue. You should have tried sooner. I've been doing these all morning, I had hoped to be about done."
Her response is sharp and I blanche at her tone.
And I am already in "battle mode." How am I going to "fix," this?
I gaze heavenward, asking for His guidance.
I'm tired, nauseous, and ready to go home, and yet I feel I am needing to stay for some reason.
The stylist is midway through another woman's haircut as mom and I wait, and watch.
So I begin talking in earnest. I simply start asking the hair dresser questions, about herself. I quickly learn, the woman has much to say.
Her responses are sharp at first. She has been doing hair for almost 60 years now. She is 79 years old, just like mom, but in good health, and just trying to stay busy since her husband passed away.
So I listen, and support. I smile, and nod. I compliment and encourage.
It occurs to me, her clients are hard of hearing, and often have trouble making a complete sentence themselves. It must be hard to feel the "reward," in what she is doing.
Soon, its my mom's turn. And I barely need to say a word, our "beautician" as my mom would call her, is still telling us her story. We are her audience.
And slowly, she softens. Her tone changes to a little less sharpness. She cuts, then form waves with mom's hair and begins expressing how beautiful my mom's hair truly is.
Thank you, God, for these grace-filled moments.
My belief, helped me to "see" her. And in turn, it felt like she would be able to "see" my mom.
I slipped a 5 dollar bill into mom's hands before I turned to go. She winked back at me.
I had just watched my mom get a haircut in which she had no say. Nor any mirror. No input on the style or how it should look. She was in a wheelchair, with hair falling freely all around her. How did this become my mom's life?
It was a few days later, when I was looking around the house for a container to house my own bobby pins, that I saw the Whitman's box.
My bobby pins are tucked away, much like moms used to be. The beauty of the parts of my mother still present with us, pinned together with the memories of who she used to be neatly resting inside.
The boys went with Rick to the Minnesota High School Hockey Tournament, for 4 days. The tickets were a huge gift to us, and we were so thankful for them! Several boys that Nolan skated with last summer were skating in the tournament, and Nolan loved cheering them on.
Even for him as a hockey player, sometimes, believing is seeing.
We were also excited for some new hockey opportunities to come our way, for Nolan. Our world continues to expand, and we're ever so grateful when new things present themselves.
So I stayed home and rested and healed. My friend Steph left the new "Believe" Young Living Essential Oil, and the necklace infuser, on my door step the other day.
Love, doesn't even begin to describe how much I adore this gift. I should do a whole post about being introduced to Essential Oils and how much I am learning about them and using them.
Saturday I felt well enough to both go with my friend, Anne, to get pedicures, and also get my hair cut.
I have a big care conference for my mom today. We will discuss the possibility of her permanent placement in the Skilled Nursing Care side of Bethany.
Has believing ever resulted in "seeing," for you?