Monday, May 12, 2014

A Mothers Day for the living

On the Friday before Mothers Day, my eight-year-old son, Colin, told me that he was going to serve me breakfast in bed.  "Do we have a tray?" he asked.  We do, and I showed him where it was.  He had also made a card for me, which he refused to show me until Sunday.

"What will you make me?" I asked.  "Pancakes and bacon,"  he answered--which is no surprise, as that is his favorite breakfast meal.

I told him that he'd better involve Dad in these plans, and I quietly added bacon to my grocery list.

I don't think I've ever been so happy for Mothers Day to come.  To see my son so engaged in planning, so excited to do this for me, was an utter joy.  I thought that the days leading up to Sunday might be even more delightful than the actual day.

On Saturday, Jason took my son out shopping.  The two of them plotted.

On Sunday morning, I laid in bed watching TV shows on Netflix while the Two Male Speeces buzzed about the kitchen.  I snuck out to get some coffee and was reprimanded.  I promised them I wouldn't come in again, and I said if they just had a bell I could ring when I needed a refill, that would be great.

A few minutes later, Jason and Colin stealthily approached the bedroom door.  I say stealthily because they really did take me by surprise. They were so quiet in their approach, I did not have a chance to video Colin ever-so-carefully carrying the tray of food, juice and syrup into the bedroom.  His face was so serious, stuck in a fretful frown of concentration, he was so afraid to drop it.  As he turned the corner of the foot of our bed, I started crying like I never thought I would at the sight of bacon strips. Here were my two loves--one teaching the other the art of pampering the woman in your life, one eagerly wanting to do a good job at it.

But there was even more.  My son spent his own allowance money buying me shower gel and lotion.  He picked out the scent himself--a scent that he said "smelled like mom."  When I stopped crying and hugged him, I said "I am the luckiest mom in the world because of you."  And he smiled and said,"I'm a great kid."  And I laughed and told him yes.

Later that morning we went to church.  For the first time since Mothers Day 2011, the pastor gave a sermon that did not talk about mothers' dealing with tragedy or crisis.  Oh, it still made me cry, but that's because he showed the video of NBA MVP Kevin Durant paying tribute to his mother.

It was a perfect day. Perfect, as in, with no asterisk.  I can't explain why. It was a day of joy, relaxation, laughter, no cooking (thanks to my lovely mother-in-law for cooking dinner), touching base with my wonderful mom on the phone, and being overwhelmed and thankful for the father and husband that Jason is.  Dylan entered my mind a couple of times throughout the day, and I smiled at the thought of his sweet face and vowed to sit down and watch some videos of him later.  I had the peace that passes all understanding, but also one that arises from a deep knowing that Dylan is in a continual state of joyfulness. In our house this year, the day was for appreciating and being appreciated by the ones I actively nurture--mother, the verb, more so than the noun.  I will be ambushed by sadness, feel cheated, and cry about Dylan another day.  That fire will never fully be extinguished.  But Sunday was for Colin to show me he loved me, for Jason to show him how to love, and for me to relish them both.

I know so many mothers who, most likely, did not have this peace on Sunday.  I know exactly what that feels like, even if our individual stories vary.  I don't pretend to know why we were chosen to lose our kids.  My uneasiness comes when I think of fellow mothers who lost their children too early, who may read this and wail wildly in their anger and sadness.  I only have my prayers to offer that they, too, feel peace someday, and that they are held close and celebrated by their loved ones for all they do.



  

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