On Death, Intimacy, and the Seemingly Mundane

My wife, Susanna, gave me a book the other day written by Henri Nouwen titled In Memoriam. It is a journal he wrote in an attempt to process what he went through when he lost his mother. I have found encouragement in the book not because of any profound revelations, but rather because I find my personal experience validated in Nouwen's words.

It is surreal to be with my mother on a daily basis as her life seems to be coming to an end. Strangely, I have discovered a deeper sense of intimacy with God, my mother, my family, and friends throughout this journey. Tonight, as she suffered through pain and a little fear we were able to pray, read Psalms, and sing together. Her participation was silent, but it was intimate.

If you think about it, this experience is extremely common. Each of us will one day lose our mother, if we have not lost her already. But the experience is so unique to each of us. The fact that it is common does not lessen the profoundness of the journey. It offers an opportunity to experience intimacy in a way that would otherwise escape us in the daily travails of life.

Interestingly, the process in real time seems a little insignificant at the surface. One section of Nouwen's book resonated well with me. He writes that

"it is difficult to put into words what I want to say. Such words as "love" and "care" can so easily be interpreted in an emotional way, and yet none of us standing around my mother's bed were ever very good at expressing our feelings toward one another. In fact, during these long hours of waiting, none of us said anything very new. The words were the same as always. Yet, as we watched her life slowly fade away, we all sensed that the bond between us which she had created was growing stronger and deeper. . . Old boundaries that had maintained certain distances between us were being lifted so that new intimacies could grow."

Here is to loving deeper in 2009. Love does not come without pain, but in pain we find life.

Steve