THE LOST ART OF RELATIONSHIP
have ever known. She knew how to strike up a conversation and ask the right questions to get someone to open up.
At family events, she made sure everyone was comfortable, had enough to eat, and that we all pitched in to clean up. My brother and I were often drafted into much of the work and effort she put into serving others, as well as my dad.
As I look back, I realize that she probably sacrificed more energy than she had to give. She didn’t have an outlet to care for her own self physically, emotionally, or psychologically, short of talking to my dad and her sisters.
She loved children. She lit up when she could work with them. She became the Sunday School Superintendent, taught classes at church, and even worked her way up to Director of a day-care center, which served children before and after school. She lived and breathed serving kids.
At her funeral, hundreds of people were there. Many had not seen my mom for years, but countless people came up to me and told me stories of how my mom had influenced their lives and how grateful they were for our family sharing her with them. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.
A relationship cannot happen unless people are willing to give of themselves to others—this was a significant lesson I learned from her. I can recount so many memories where I watched my mom place others’ needs above her own. Serving and having the mindset of service can and will have an incredible impact on others’ lives. They may not even realize it until you are gone, but the basic foundation of service is to do for others as you would want them to do for you. There is no expectation of how they will respond or whether they will reciprocate.
One thing is for sure…she loved others to a fault. She taught me to be keenly aware of the needs and emotions of those around me—to keep a watchful eye on the one who seemed to be isolated and find a way to include them. She taught me how to be a servant in relationships. The only thing I would have coached her to do differently is to make sure she spent time feeding her own soul and body, so she could have a healthy balance of service and refreshment.
When I finally got to Baltimore, I wasn’t allowed to see my mother until the funeral home had prepared her for viewing. I walked into the funeral home, through the door of the viewing room, and up to the casket. At the precise moment when I saw her for the first time, I literally fell to my knees, broke down, and sobbed. The grief was almost unbearable.
There was this treasure of a woman who I was privileged to call mother, laying in a casket. I know all of the ways people encourage someone in that kind of grief and loss. However, nothing was going to bring her back.