Part 36 (2/2)

I saw all these things and an aching knot coiled in my throat. I knew-even as my mouth parted in a soft groan of compa.s.sion, even as tears gushed from my eyes-that she wouldn't be able to comprehend what she was seeing. But I couldn't seem to contain the emotions bubbling out of me.

She might interpret the sight of me crying on the bed as a sign of trouble, but there was more in that room than just a mother and her broken daughter. There was a connection between us that I can't possibly begin to describe.

I was looking at her, you see, and I was feeling nothing but endless love for her. No, not just feeling . . . Offering. Giving. And I think this, more than my crying, confused her.

”What's wrong?” She glanced about the room, searching for any sign of trouble, maybe half expecting to see Zeke sitting in the corner. But there was only me. And her.

She walked in slowly, dumbstruck, the stopped a few feet from the bed and looked at my body.

”What happened? You're wet . . .”

I tried to speak, but only raspy breath came out, and, judging by the wrinkling of her brow, this confused Kathryn even more. Alarmed, she sat on the bed and quickly placed her palm on my forehead.

”What's wrong, sweetheart? You're frightening me! What happened?”

I took the hand on my forehead in my own and tenderly pressed it against my cheek.

Immediately tears sprang to her eyes. It was then that I realized we were already communicating. Our hearts had somehow found each other's.

I stared into her eyes and I offered her only love with all of my heart. I couldn't remember anything but her innocence, and in that place I saw her as a precious and perfect child who could not possibly disappoint me, much less her Father.

My only problem was that the more I offered her love, the more I cried. And the more she received my love and saw my tears, the more she cried. At first perhaps misunderstanding the reason for my demonstration of love, maybe thinking I had finally come to my senses and was once again on the correct path. But she'd never seen this kind of outpouring from me, and I could see the question in her eyes.

Tell her, Eden. Speak to her.

”I forgive you, Mother.” The words came out strained. I kissed her hand and said it again. ”I forgive you.”

She blinked, struck by these simple words. Then meaning fell into her mind, and her face knotted in anguish.

”I love you,” I said.

And she could take it no longer. She closed her eyes and began to sob, then lowered her head to my belly and wept into my already wet pajamas. She didn't offer any words, only those tears of remorse and guilt.

But I didn't want her to feel any guilt because that wasn't my intention or business. I only wanted to love her and find her blameless, and as she began to come apart, I found that my own strength returned and my own crying began to settle.

You would think that it would take more than a few words to shatter my mother's hardened sh.e.l.l after living so many years under her burden of guilt, and you would be right. Far more than a few words. Something with far more power than mere words.

A true expression of love born of the heart, not the mouth. In the s.p.a.ce of that love, no words are required. My mother was being deeply impacted by something I could hardly understand myself and still, I gave it with all of my heart.

I saw myself as a tree, administering healing over a wounded spirit who had come to me for love. She was my mother and I was only too willing to stroke her head and give her as much love as she could possibly drink in. And to offer her a few words as well.

”I love you, Mother. It's all going to be okay.”

”I'm sorry.” She sobbed into my pajama top. ”I'm so sorry.”

”It's okay, Mother . . .”

”I didn't know what to do. I'm so confused. I'm so sorry.”

I had always wondered something about the crucifixion scene-the part where Jesus says, 'Forgive them for they know not what they do.'

It had confused me because I'd thought, Well of course they know what they are doing. They're treating him with cruelty. They're pounding nails into him and hanging him up on a cross. Every cruel person always knows that they're being cruel.

But in that moment with my mother begging on my belly, I understood perfectly. She, like those who'd crucified Jesus, had justified what she'd done and made it permissible in her own mind. And so goes the whole human race.

They should have known better, and there was plenty of cause for blame, and yet blamelessness had been offered. That was grace and that was me, ministering forgiveness to my mother by offering her no blame.

I drew a deep breath and I said what was in my spirit to say.

”I forgive you, Mother. You've done nothing wrong to me.”

The moment I said it, a tingling spread over my scalp.

Mother's crying eased and her body stilled.

”Nothing, Mother,” I said. As if following specifically routed electric circuits, the tingling sensation rode down my arms and spine. ”You did nothing wrong to me.”

She sat up and stared at me with red eyes. ”How can you say that?” she cried. ”How can you even say that!?”

I'm sure there are ways I could have psychoa.n.a.lyzed her angry response, but my mind wasn't interested. It was captivated by the power flowing through my body, from head to foot. The current buzzed through my bones for a moment, and then it was gone, out the bottom of my feet.

Overcome by her own failures as a mother, Kathryn covered her face with both hands and wept. And I let her, silent now, still captivated by the lingering balm of that energy that had swept through my body. For a long while, we remained like that, me p.r.o.ne on my back, her sitting, basking in a power greater than both of us.

Something had happened to me, hadn't it? Something about me had changed.

”What did you do to me, Mother?” I asked.

She shook her head in shame.

”Tell me what you did to me,” I said.

”You don't understand, Eden. I had to. I can't disobey. I just can't go against him. I can't . . .”

”Tell me, Mother. Tell me what you did to me.”

”I hurt you!” she blurted, pulling her hands from her face. ”I took my little daughter and I . . .” She looked away, choked up by terrible guilt.

”You forced me under the water and made me stay in my closet and starved me?” I asked.

”Yes!” she sobbed. ”Yes!”

”And tell me how Zeke hurt me.”

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