Redemption

I have to admit that I've been faking as much as possible the last few weeks. I've almost convinced myself that I'm ok at times. I've tried to convince myself that it's not that bad. That this is just what happens in life. Tonight I just tried to fall asleep as fast as possible again, but it didn't work. Her face was all I could see. It was so real tonight. It was like she was looking at me. I then started having a panic attack at the thought of forgeting what she looks like. I know we have pictures, but there's no substitute for the way she looked when she was looking directly at me. Nothing comes close to representing how it was to be with her.

I know there's grace, but I can't help but wish I could have been a better son to her. I just wish I would have taken her out to dinner more. Why did I think that my schedule and entertainment took precedence over her? I wish I would have surprised her more. I mean what was I thinking? I was so focused on my next job, my next vacation, my next fun weekend. How could I not see that the woman who had poured her life into me, raised me, loved me, knew me more than anyone in the world was just anxious to spend time with me. Where would I be without her?

Lately, the image of her putting makeup on in the mirror has been stuck in my head (weird I know). I remember her putting makeup on in the main floor bathroom while making duck faces in the mirror (to judge the right amount of eye liner I guess?) right before we had to leave for church. I remember she would be telling us that we need to leave and hurrying us along even if in reality she was the one we were waiting for. I've been thinking about how she probably looked when she was putting makeup on the morning of my wedding. I can see her wanting to look as perfect as ever. She invested more in me than any mother should feel obligated to. I remember being proud of my mother when I had my last exclusive dinner before my wedding with my immediate family at Hacienda Real in Lincoln. I thought of how I was going to walk her down the aisle and how happy that was going to make her.

On my wedding day everything went so fast. In no time the wedding was starting. I was behind the wedding party waiting for the signal to come walk my mother and mother in law down the aisle. There was a miscommunication down by the ceremony where I couldn't see or hear anything. Someone had told an usher to bring my mother down the aisle. My mom told him politely that she was to be taken down by her son. They told her there was no time and that this is how we had planned the wedding to start. She looked around for me. I was nowhere to be found. One of the ushers took my mother down the aisle. As I approached the ceremony I was disappointed that it had happened, but I didn't know how much it would hurt until after the wedding. I didn't get to take my mother down the aisle. This wasn't the plan. I was supposed to! The rest of the wedding was great, but I knew my mom was heartbroken. She didn't want to show it, but I knew. She felt like she was deceived. She felt uncared for, maybe even unloved. Oh how I wished I could have walked with her. I knew how much it meant to her. Her hopes were so high for just a small dose of recognition and to be honored by her son. She thought in excitement about that moment in the days before and while she put her makeup on that morning. If I would have known what was going on I would have stopped what was happening and told them, "I TAKE MY MOTHER DOWN THE AISLE!". Her son was nowhere to be found to fix it. After the wedding I vowed that I would redeem myself when one of my sisters gets married. I would make sure that they would let me bring my mother down the aisle to make it up to her for failing at my own wedding. That was my way of coping with missing something I had truly looked forward to and failing at giving my mom something she absolutely deserved.

My mother never held this against me, but it is something meaningful to both of us that we missed out on. I can't fix this feeling. There's nothing I can do to come through for her all of the times that I didn't. I don't get a second chance.
But somehow there's hope. If I can positively affect someone's life, there is hope. If I can be any sort of relief to someone who is hurting, there is hope. If I can help someone believe that they are valued, there is hope. I'm hurting more now, but somehow it feels like I can see more clearly. I want so badly to redeem myself, but maybe the hardest thing to come to grips with is the fact that I'm not the Redeemer. Maybe I can't redeem myself. Maybe someone else can.