18 December 2011

RUMINATIONS: Raymond BillyI know I’m bias on this topic, but by any objective measure, Paulette Edwina Pierce Billy – known to me as Mom – was a remarkable woman. I can’t think of a woman I’ve met or even heard of who I respect more that her – a respect that approaches awe.

Some of my experiences with my Mom likely aren’t uncommon, but they were nonetheless uncanny. She had an amazing sixth sense. Even though I’ve lived in East Texas for the past five years – about 450 miles away from her suburban New Orleans residence – she had an eerie way of knowing approximately what was going on in my life even if I hadn’t spoken much to her about that subject. Not only did she know things that were going on in my life, she always seemed to sense when those issues were at their most critical stages (again, with no input from me) and was quick with a phone call for words of encouragement, admonishment and comfort.

That seemingly supernatural wisdom was a wrinkle of my Mom’s persona that I became acquainted with only in recent years – necessitated by the distance between us and my penchant for holding the goings-on in my life close to the vest. She had to pry things out of me. But even before that element of our relationship materialized, her nearly decade-long struggle with cancer showed me the profound courage and integrity my mom possessed.

She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002. As she dealt with the illness, rarely if ever did she fail to display a trait that was characteristic of her life: Faith.

Mom always believed that her life was in God’s hands. She held to that attitude no matter what the medical professionals told her about her health. At the end of 2005, as she sat in the hospital suffering life-threatening complications related to her cancer, a nurse warned her to “call your family in and tell them what’s about to happen.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mom told the nurse. “I have people all over this country praying for me.”

None of my mother’s caregivers expected her to be alive when the sunlight rose over the horizon that December morning. Yet when doctors and nurses walked into her room, there she was bright-eyed and hungry.

“Why are y’all standing around looking like you’ve seen a ghost? Go get my breakfast!” she quipped.

Mom found herself in similar situations at least a handful of times during the previous nine years. But when my sister and I rushed home from our respective colleges that December 2005, Mom looked closer to death than I had ever seen her until last week.Paulette Billy

After being told earlier this month that Mom might not have much time left, I made an impromptu trip to New Orleans. When I arrived at my parents’ home and saw her about 10:55 p.m. Dec. 10, she looked considerably more ill than when I’d been there less than two weeks earlier for Thanksgiving.
I partially regret that I couldn’t restrain myself from weeping in front of her, and that she had to comfort me when I should have been doing that for her. On the other hand, though, I’m terrible at verbalizing my emotions. I’m not sure that I’ve done a good job expressing to my Mom how much I love and appreciate her, so my tears spoke for me. They said “I’m not ready to say goodbye.” I’m so glad that I was able to compose myself long enough to force the words “I love you, Mom,” from my mouth.

“I know,” she replied. “I love you too.”

As I traveled home to see Mom that evening, I was definitely hoping for another miracle – that Mom’s life would be preserved once again. But in my heart, I felt that something was different this time. She had accomplished the pride of her life: Successfully raising six kids, each of whom have a sense of identity, ambition and a deep grasp of the spiritual values she espoused. So, notwithstanding my selfish desire that she stick around for another decade or two, I thought: “Why shouldn’t Mom “graduate” to the heavenly reward that she’s anticipating? Mom seemed to feel that way, too. As she came face to face, once again, with her own mortality, she was not resistant this time. She did graduate Tuesday morning at age 55.

Hindsight is trying to coerce me into having regrets regarding my relationship with my mom. But realistically, I know there’s nothing to regret. It’s not like we didn’t spend enough time together, I was homeschooled from preschool until 12th grade, after all. In recent years I let her know I thought I had a great Mom. I could have said it more. I could have hugged her more. But I think she recognized my dispassion for what it was: A mere sign of my stoic personality.

Not only hindsight, but my tendency toward ruminating, will tempt me to extend the mourning period for longer than it should earnestly last. But with this column, I hope to clear a major hurdle in that process. I’ll attempt to carry Mom’s legacy without carrying the pain of loss I feel now that she’s gone. And I’ll try to take comfort in the fact that one day, I will go to my mother. But she won’t return to me.

Raymond Billy is the assistant editor of ResonateNews.com. To contact him, email This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

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