“Happy Heart”

 A stranger was crying at my mother’s funeral.

“What’s your name?” I asked her. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you. Did you work with my mom?”

She said, “Oh, I never knew your mother, I went to the wrong funeral.” Shocked, I asked, “Why did you stay?”

“A patient of mine died and I thought this was his funeral. By the time I realized my mistake I decided to stay, since I usually attend daily Mass anyway.”

The stranger sobbed openly as she continued, “I am crying because of what you shared about your mom. I hope someday my daughter will say that about me.” Then she hugged me and walked away, leaving me with a tear-soaked shoulder and a priceless memory. God used my mom’s death to bring hope to this brokenhearted woman.

When the priest had asked my brother and I to say something about our mom, I told the happy ending of the following story; and realized again that the last six years of my mother’s life were an incredible miracle! The first 75 years were a different story.

Mom was well known by the police, cab drivers, probation officer, jailers, the judge and the muggers. Alcoholism had her wandering the streets. The collection of grocery carts in her front yard testified to her “disease.” However, her life of torment was about to be changed.

A spark of hope rose in me when the social worker called, saying, “Your mother was beaten by a purse snatcher again last night. I need you to meet me at her house today.”

Mom was caught in the “revolving door” of the legal system. She would get drunk, get arrested, go to jail, get bailed out by her “enabling” friends, then go to court, or forget to go to court, get arrested again for not showing up in court, or breaking probation, back to jail, out again, celebrate with a drink……!

When the social worker and I arrived at Mom’s house, we found her covered with scratches and bruises, drinking a cold beer. Her sofa reeked of urine and we were surrounded with spilled peanuts, cigarettes, dirty clothes, moldy dishes, and piles of partially opened mail.

Because Mom was hurting from the beating, she agreed to go to the hospital. I thanked God for a good social worker. She was able to get Mom admitted even though her identification had been stolen.

During that nightmarish season, I hated to answer the phone. Would it be the police? The hospital? Perhaps it would be one of her drinking buddies.  They often accused me of being a bad daughter. “What kind of a daughter are you?” “I’ll tell the newspaper and the TV news to do a story on how you think you are so holy, and yet you don’t help your mother.”

On one occasion, my mother was found unconscious on a barroom floor. The paramedics called and asked permission to “Baker Act” Mom, a 3-day mandatory hospital stay, after which the patient is free again. A CAT scan showed that her brain was atrophied. There was liquid where part of her brain used to be. Three days later, she was back in the saloon.

How could this 73-year old senile, demented, “wet-brained” widow be clever enough to convince judges to release her? How could she routinely take cabs without paying? How could she con the police and outwit her neighbors and her family?

The CAT scan proved that mom did not have the capacity to be so clever. There was too much brain damage. Some say the “disease” is talking, but the Bible explains it better. Diseases cannot talk but demons can. This understanding from the Bible gave me “peace that passes understanding.” No matter what I heard come from her mouth, I knew I was not battling “flesh and blood, but powers and principalities,” i.e. demons. I wish I had known this when I was young. I always thought it was mom talking, and so much she said hurt me. Knowing this Biblical truth now gave me the strength to apply the principle of “tough love.”

Because of the laws in our state, there was no way to protect mom from being victimized again by muggers. I had to prove she was incompetent and have a professional guardian assigned by the court. Then she could be kept safe.

Mom already had such a bad reputation throughout the local court system that no guardian wanted her. We kept praying, and God provided a young, newly trained guardian who accepted the challenge.

The next eighteen months were like a senile soap opera. Mom had also dabbled in the occult, so she was violent, strong, and demented. This ungodly combination kept her in maximum security whenever she was in jail.

After one of her arrests mom was hospitalized to dry out. When I got there, I was met with another gross scene. Mom ate like an animal, plopping her face into a plate of food. Her fingernails were so long that they curled back toward her palms like claws. Could she go down any further? Where was the bottom for my mom?

Before she was released, I started cleaning her house. The court had appointed me temporary guardian with the authority to take care of her affairs.

It was obvious that she had not attempted to clean for years. Stiff, greasy, smelly clothes were piled in both bedrooms. The bathtub and sink had not been used for a long time. Her dishes and cookware were covered with cobwebs, mold, ashes and dust, and were stuffed into every available space. Evidence of small fires from forgotten cigarettes was everywhere.

Although cockroaches thought this was paradise, for me it was hell. I fumigated the place and slept at a motel that night.

After salvaging family pictures and a few sentimental items, I hired a professional cleaning crew. I rented her an apartment in a beautiful retirement complex that had good nursing staff, security and food, and I moved in her belongings. When she was released from the hospital, she was taken to her new home, with her pictures and furniture all in place and food in her refrigerator. She said she liked it. Everything was different except mom’s behavior. She was still borrowing, still conning, still drinking! Soon we were back in court to have her declared legally incompetent.

The atmosphere was strained in the little waiting room across from the Judge’s chambers. Mom’s “buddy” who always called and yelled at me was there. My brother, the cleaning team, mom’s nurse, the social worker and the attorneys were also on hand. Mom had no idea what this was all about.

The devil worried me with thoughts like, “How could you love your mother and take her to court to have her rights removed?”

My brother and I sat together at an impressively long table in the judge’s chambers across from my mother and her lawyer. Witnesses were called in, one at a time.

The nurse from mother’s new residence testified about mom’s health needs, and alcoholism. The psychiatrist told of the hopelessness of her mental condition. The cleaners described the condition of her house. I was silent.

Mom kept tugging on her attorney’s arm. She wanted to talk to the judge, but her attorney knew that if she opened her mouth, the case would be lost. He kept saying, “Be quiet.”

Finally, she had her way, and told the judge, “Well, certainly, I would be insane to even consider taking a drink. That is why I don’t drink anymore, and haven’t for a long time.” Such an obvious contradiction of previous evidence caused the judge to slowly begin marking on a paper. Then he read: “M____, your right to travel has been removed…your right to handle money has been removed…your right to vote has been removed,” etc.

It was an awesome experience, and the seriousness of what we were doing almost overwhelmed me, but nothing had prepared me for my mother’s response. When we were dismissed, she hugged me and said, “I am so happy that you love me so much that you would do this for me.” Either she had no idea what was happening, or God had helped her realize that this was all for her own welfare.

Now court would make her remain where she would be safe. The new guardian took over where I left off. She sold mom’s house, paid her bills, and set up a trust that would continue to take care of mom and her needs the rest of her life.

Having a guardian had many fringe benefits. She took mom to the doctor, made her get her hair done, took her shopping and tried to keep her from buying booze. Mom no longer considered me the ‘enemy’, and complained to me, on my visits, how mean that ‘witch’ was.

The courts placed my mother in a rehabilitation program, but two weeks later, the rehab center kicked her out because she had been attacking other patients.

After several failed attempts to help her, the court put her in a psychiatric hospital. I found her in a room filled with grotesque sounds and smells. Other patients were strapped into chairs. Yet, while here, I received an amazing insight.

As I sat in mom’s room, she started to sing. I asked her what the song was. “Why, that’s the lullaby I sang to you when you were a baby, and my mother sang it to me.”

I wrote down these words as she sang it again.

“You made me what I am today,

I hope you’re satisfied.

You pulled and pulled and pulled me down

Until the hope within me died.

You shattered each and every dream,

You fooled me from the start.

So it’s not true, may God bless you,

It’s the curse of an aching heart.”

Wow. All the way home I praised the Lord for showing me the root of the curse of misery that has plagued our family. Now I understood why mom was always happiest when I was down. So many things made sense now. I could remember the many family picnics where the relatives would play the game, “Can you top this”, as they tried to outdo each other with tales of misery in their own lives.

We were getting ready for a month-long missionary trip to Nigeria, West Africa, when mom’s guardian called.

“Your mom fell and fractured her hip. The doctor will operate today, but they don’t know if she will survive the surgery.”

The surgery went well, but the procedure adversely affected her brain. She no longer knew me. Now totally demented, she thought she was hanging wallpaper. I knew the trauma of broken bones in the elderly causes severe mental setbacks because the brain’s capillaries get clogged with fatty deposits released from the fracture site. It was difficult leaving her in this condition, but we prayed for her and left for Nigeria.

One month later when I saw her she told me about her daughter, Nancy. She still had no idea who I was!

Several visits later she complained of a tummy-ache. I asked, “Mom, do you want me to pray for your tummy?”

When she said, “Yes,” I put my hand on her abdomen, and prayed, “Jesus, heal my mothers tummy.”

I could hear God say, “Now, you pray for her heart.”

Following the leading of the Holy Spirit, I laid my hand over my mother’s heart and prayed, “Jesus, give my mom a happy heart.”

She looked at me, and speaking like a little girl, she said, “You sure talk pretty.”

Then she folded her hands, looked up toward heaven, and said, “Jesus, now I’m ready, take all of me.”

Peace was on her face when I left that day, and I thanked God because my prayers were finally answered. However, God had another surprise for me.

Two weeks later, her guardian called.

“Nancy, what happened to your mother? At first we thought she had a stroke, because she was laughing all the time. She is so happy now. Can you tell me what happened?”

I shared the testimony of my time of prayer with her, and that Jesus had given her a happy heart. Then I jumped into my car.

When I walked through Mom’s door she said, “Nancy, where have you been for so long?”

She remembered who I was! Incredible! Jesus gave her a happy heart and restored her brain!

The Bible says that a happy heart does good like a medicine, and a crushed spirit dries up the bones. Mom now had a happy heart, which everyone could see in her sweet countenance. She remained cheerful and became very gracious and polite. Other residents, who did not know her before, commented that mom must have been a well-bred woman because she had such good manners.

Mom seemed to get younger. She was no longer confused, so the staff took her out of restraints and put her bed rails down. She started to feed herself, learned to use her right hand again, got out of her wheelchair, walked with a walker, and started using the toilet again. She remembered the grandchildren who visited, and got to meet some new great-grandchildren. She was even able to enjoy the videos of our missionary trips.

The Bible says that anger, jealousy and wrath dry up the bones. Her bones were no longer dry. The good medicine, the happy heart that Jesus gave her, was restoring her bones, and the improved blood supply was repairing her damaged body and brain.

The staff loved her, calling her the Ha-ha lady. She became their favorite patient.

She told me every time I saw her, “Everyone is so nice to me here.’ ‘I am so happy here.” “I really love you, Nancy.”

After waiting and praying for so many years, I finally had a mother again.

Recently a nursing home staff member said, “I remember your mom when she first came here. We all would run for cover because she was so mean. Now she is always happy.”

The social director told me that it is neat to know the background of a patient and see prayers answered. The staff saw what God could do in a “hopeless” case.

They know that Jesus gave my mom a happy heart, juicy bones, a better life, and healed relationships.

I shared the highlights of this story at the funeral, stating that mom had had some hard times that caused her bones to dry up. Then I focused on the “Happy Heart” prayer and the miracle that followed.

The stranger at the wrong funeral was not there by mistake. God loved her too, and allowed her to get there so she could hear this message of hope.

© 2003 Nancy Ball/Weber