God Knew

            I should have known.  After all, it’s happened before.

            Yesterday I finished writing my monthly Random Reflections column for The Log, our church newsletter.  Titled “Hindsight,” it was about turning to God’s promise in Romans 8:28 as an antidote for regret.  I wondered if there was a specific person who needed this particular reflection.

            As it turned out, there is:  me.

            On this warm and sunny afternoon (April 24) of Mom’s 86^th birthday, I go to visit her at HomePlace, the memory care facility where she has lived for over a year.  I bring in magazines for her to read, a new acrostics puzzle book, a picture of her great-grandchildren (Benjamin and Joelle), a box of Russell Stover chocolates, and a birthday card from my brother John and me.  My other brother, Bob, who lives in Kentucky, sent a lovely bouquet with yellow roses.  

            Mom sits in her recliner with her lap quilt, the window blinds down to block the sun.  She shows none of her old enthusiasm, in which she practically leapt from the chair to greet me, and accepts my gifts with more incomprehension than interest.  After a bit, I suggest we go outside to enjoy the sunshine, remembering that a year ago, I took her out for dinner and a drive on her birthday; today, she is hard pressed to walk out of her room with me to the courtyard.

            Mom has always been an outdoors person.  John and I used to joke that she was solar-powered.  Now, as we sit in the sun, she does not show her usual interest in the flowers and blossoming fruit trees.  There are distractions, though:  one resident trying to find a way out through the tall wooden fence, another speaking nonsense syllables as she gestures at a lawn decoration. 

            Suddenly Mom decides she cannot be outdoors anymore, and we walk back inside.  Eventually, she says she is really tired, so I accompany her back to her room where I cheerily remind her again that today is her 86^th birthday, that the pretty flowers are from Bob, and that the chocolates are from John and me.  I open the box of chocolates for her, but she is not interested.  I wish her a happy birthday once more, give her a hug, and leave.

            Regret washes over me for not having taken her on more rides while she was still able to enjoy them, for not having visited more often, for all the missed opportunities to brighten her life.   Even as I repent for my sins of omission, the undertow of loss threatens to drag me out to sea.

            And then I remember Romans 8:28 and the words I penned so recently.  God knew I would need them.