Just another moment in your eyes
“Lucy,” track #12 from Skillet, Awake, Atlantic Records, 2009.
I’ll see you in another life
In Heaven!
Where we never say goodbye!
Now that it’s over
I just want to hold her
I’d give up all the world to see
That little piece of Heaven lookin’ back at me
Suffering does not have the final word
Today is a very special day. It is a day of remembering the person who not only gave me life, but who shaped me into the person I am today. My parent. My teacher. My spiritual support. My best friend. February will mark five years since her untimely passing, and while the pain of her loss never fades, I have come to accept that I will not see her again in this life. While I may not see her, her presence remains with me to this day. I wanted to write a post today in loving memory of my greatest supporter. Happy birthday, Mom.
Mom passed when I was eighteen. She had been diagnosed with stage four liver cancer the previous summer and given, at best, a few weeks to live. I had just become an adult, and thus, there are many stories of hers that I never heard. From what I do know, she had a tumultuous life. Her parents divorced at an early age. She had a physically abusive first husband before marrying my father, a drunk (not a term I use lightly) who neglected her very existence. She loved James, her last husband and my other “parent,” although he tried everything in his power to turn his children against her, for no apparent reason. Like me, she struggled with mental health disorders and substance abuse early in life. And she passed due to a deadly, progressive illness.
These are just some of the highlights I either heard or witnessed firsthand. She was certainly no saint, but she modeled the image of Christ more so than any person I have ever known. You would have never assumed she was the subject of so much travesty. She radiated the love of her savior daily, something very few churchgoers can do. She gave up her profession to homeschool her twelve children. She was actively involved in the community, and everyone who knew her can acknowledge that she touched their life in one way or another. She always wore the brightest smile and illuminated any room she entered with her caring and gentle spirit.
Lucy
Christmas was my mother’s favorite holiday and she truly exhibited the spirit of Christmas each year. When I was ten, she gave me what I still consider to be the greatest Christmas gift I have ever received. It was a copy of Skillet’s album, Awake. I had just discovered Skillet that year and they had quickly become my favorite band. I credit them for my love of rock and metal, and equally my interest in faith. Mom strictly enforced a Christian household and, as such, secular music (with few exceptions) was prohibited. When I learned that Christians could rock, it changed my world. She admired my interest and gave me the album late that Christmas night.
At the beginning of this post, I included lyrics to one of the most important songs in my life. Skillet’s song Lucy, the closing track on Awake, broke my heart the first time I heard it. It is a sad song, and while I did not fully understand its meaning at the time, it stuck with me. Accordingly, the song is about a young couple who were soon to become parents. However, out of fear and financial instability, the couple decided to terminate the pregnancy. Soon afterwards, the couple experienced extreme regret and guilt and were told to treat the procedure as a death in the family. They held a funeral service, purchased a headstone, and named the aborted child Lucy.1
Little did I know until years later that I was almost a Lucy. My mother had given birth to nine children, she was forty-five when she was pregnant with me, and the doctor told her it was highly unlikely that I would be born without down syndrome. The doctors recommended abortion. However, my mother was one of the staunchest pro-lifers I have ever known, and determined that she would not go through with an abortion. To this day, while my political views may differ, on a personal level, I will always be pro-life for this reason.
But there is more to the story of the impact this song made for my mother and me. While I do not know the full story, I know that my mother struggled with a variety of mental health disorders and substance abuse in her teenage years. She was admitted to a notorious mental health clinic in central Georgia during the late sixties/early seventies. There are horror stories about this particular clinic. When we think of a 1950s American style insane asylum, the hospital my mother was at truly lives up to the stereotype. While she was there, she had one good doctor by the name of Jack, I believe. Jack allegedly wrote an account of his time at this hospital, which included meeting my mother. For purposes of anonymity, he refrained from using her real name. He called her Lucy.
After sharing Skillet’s song with my mother a few weeks after that Christmas, apparently she told one of my older siblings about how much the song touched her heart. I never heard the entire story about what happened in her time at Central State, but the untold story holds a special place in my heart. Having been admitted to a rehabilitation center in 2021 and a crisis unit only a few months ago, the story only becomes more special to me. While it is true that mental health and substance abuse disorders are largely genetic, I do not see this negatively. I see this as hope. I see that my loving mother survived tremendous suffering, and it never broke her. It shaped her into being the loving, caring mother everyone knew.
Of course, when my mother passed, the song took on yet another meaning for me. It was my anthem of hope. It was my reminder that though her body lost life, her spirit lives within me. As painful as it is to hear the song now, it is a bittersweet pain. The tears that fall each time I hear “Lucy” are not bad tears. They are tears of sadness, but they are even more tears of love. They are tears of reassurance that my mother lives on, and the end of her life on earth is not the end of my life with her. And each time I hear it, I am reminded of the strength my mother possessed.
She used her weaknesses to become strong. She rejected the status quo and lived as a true Jesus Freak. She did not sit idly in the church. She did not force dogma down the throats of others. She did not act superior to those who disagreed with her. She embraced the model of Christ in the Gospels: a person characterized by loving the outcasts and stepping on the toes of the self-righteous. She did not live a wonderful life, but she would never admit to this. She was grateful for her life, both the good and the bad. When she received the news that she had cancer, she boldly proclaimed that her savior had never let her down.
A reflection of hope
As the years have passed, I know that there are many areas in which my mother and I would not see eye-to-eye. My political views have become more progressive (though, I align myself dead center and quite simply despise politics). I do not attend church. I do not interpret the Bible as perfect or living. I almost completely dismiss Christianity as yet another organized religion. I still hold many “Christian” beliefs and place my faith in the God of Bible and his son, but I am not the churchgoing Christian I was five years ago. Despite these changes, I know that my mother would still love me the way she did when she walked this earth. And I know that one day, I will see her again.
When I reflect on my mother’s life and the few years I had with her, I am reminded of my destiny. I am reminded that in all things, I should exhibit nothing less than love. I must be bold in my beliefs, and not merely talk about them, but live them out. My mother redefined the churchgoing Christian, I believe. While she was adamant about attending church services, she understood that church is scripturally an activity done outside the walls of the church. It is about making an impact. It is about loving others, regardless of what they believe in or who they are. It is about striving to address the problem, rather than becoming part of the problem.
Since my mother’s diagnosis, now over five years ago, the problem of suffering has been at the heart of everything I believe and do. But what confounds me is the way my mother approached the problem. She did not use her illness, or the pain she experienced in her life, to lose faith. She embraced the pain and used it to further her faith. Her suffering did not discredit her beliefs. While the question of “Why, God?” undoubtedly plagued her mind, she maintained forward momentum towards glory. Even in her darkest days, she knew her calling to love others with every fiber of her being. And it radiated with every person she encountered.
Five long years without her. And while I cannot deny that I miss her each and every day, I know that her spirit lives within me. It lives within each of her children, and the countless lives she touched in 64 years. Those who knew her will never forget her. Her legacy lives on and will continue to do so. And I know that we will meet again someday.
Until that day, I love you mom. Happy birthday. I am signing off now to go celebrate and remember her with a bowl of pistachio ice cream.
- Nate Carlson and John Cooper, “Music | The meaning behind the song ‘Lucy’ by Skillet,” November 22, 2010, Ramblings of the Village Idiot. Retrieved from https://www.natecarlson.com/2010/11/22/the-meaning-behind-the-song-lucy-by-skillet/.