“As one whom his mother comforts,
so I will comfort you;
you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.”
I found myself walking through Old Cloverdale in Montgomery in the wee hours of this most recent Fourth of July Saturday. I had decided to accompany a quirky, hilarious young woman I had just met at church who insisted on finding a park before the stroke of midnight.
I admit I was charmed by her jaunty persistence that she needed to listen to Chicago’s “Saturday in the Park” in an actual park before the stroke of midnight marked the start of July 5th. I also felt duty bound not to let this young woman, who is not a native to these parts, stroll alone in the dark through any Montgomery neighborhood, no matter how historic or the stuff of F. Scott Fitzgerald.
So we set off, wary of tomorrow.
As we walked under the neighborhood’s lush tree canopy catching glimpses of the half-moon’s light amidst the sound of last-ditch firecrackers popping off in the distance, we did what any two strangers might do on such a wholesome late-night adventure – we talked and got to know one another.
That’s when she asked a simple, innocent question – a question I have learned to brace for since July 2015.
“So, what does your mom do?” she asked.
“She’s dead,” I answered blankly, “Died 10 years ago.”
“I’m so sorry! Sorry I asked.”
“It’s OK, it gets better with time, though it never goes away. It will actually be 11 years ago this upcoming Wednesday since she passed.”
We kept walking and talking, found a park next to First United Methodist Church, and she made a quick video bopping along to “Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I had been laughing at her quirks that whole evening.
“Just in time,” I said, “it’s almost tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is when my life forever changed.
Tomorrow is a day I tried to forget.
Tomorrow is a day that never dies.
Tomorrow – the day of her death.
Tomorrow, Wednesday, July 8th, is a date my memory always finds even when I wished it was lost. The more I run away, the more that day stays in my flesh, as though every new destination always arrives with the same old thorn of her loss.
Perhaps I am haunted. Perhaps I am blessed. Either way, the loss is something my life, for better or worse, will always have gained. Perhaps I am cursed to always feel the mark of yesterday’s pain. Yet, perhaps, tragedy is a grace and tribulation a gift. Perhaps from our deepest wounds grow roses of everlasting change.
This hole in my heart! For so long it only reminded me of the pain. This hole has haunted me each passing year, each year’s tomorrow the same. I tried to fill it! I tried to patch it! I tried to numb it and just forget the day! But all the diversions and distractions ended the same way – running from yesterday as tomorrow always came.
Yet, on the eve of this year’s tomorrow, something has changed.
I no longer wish to forget or numb the pain. I no longer wish to run from the sufferings of tomorrow or yesterday.
I long to stay, face to face, grateful for the tragedies of the day – and to cherish late night strolls in search of a park. I long to listen to the hole in my heart, where in remembrance bells of sorrow and hope together now ring.
Though I will always have lost a mother yesterday and tomorrow, I can now hear a mother sing.
From the depths, I hear Rachel weeping for her children, just as I weep for the mother taken from me.
From the depths, I hear Mary’s soul magnifying the Lord with pitch-perfect humility, showing me what a true servant of the Lord should be.
From the depths, I hear the consolation of my own mother’s psalm, softly serenading me to sleep as a little one tucked into bed.
From the depths, I hear what the prophet Jeremiah said:
Thus says the Lord:
‘Keep your voice from weeping,
and your eyes from tears;
for your work shall be rewarded,
says the Lord,
and they shall come back from the land of the enemy.
There is hope for your future,
says the Lord,
and your children shall come back to their own country.
From the depths of this hole in my heart, I feel the comfort a mother brings – the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit rejoicing in the songs the Mother sings on the eve of tomorrow.
Joey Clark is a native Alabamian and is currently the host of the radio program News and Views on News Talk 93.1 FM WACV out of Montgomery, AL, M-F 12 p.m. - 3 p.m. His column appears every Tuesday in 1819 News. To contact Joey for media or speaking appearances, as well as any feedback, please email [email protected]. Follow him on X @TheJoeyClark or watch the radio show livestream.
The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of 1819 News. To comment, please send an email with your name and contact information to [email protected].
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