A Mother’s Gift

It was her day off.  The sun had crested bright and beautiful, but it didn’t draw her from the heavy sheets tucked tight around her. She dragged her tired body from the warm blankets, pulled back the dark grey curtains and stood blinded in the morning light. Just for a moment. And then she stumbled to the bedrooms, laying out clothes, tussling hair, braiding hair, finding matching socks and hurrying them out the door for school.

She sat on the couch next to her youngest, working through the mental list for the day. Shower, laundry, muffins, cookies, laundry. Sweep, laundry, dishes, lunch, laundry. Dishes, laundry, email, work call, laundry.

“Sit with me, Mama.” Startled by the little voice beside her she pushed the list aside for a moment. “Sit with me, Mama.”

Internal dialogue sprouted up within. I have so much to do. Maybe later? There are so few hours to accomplish all that is in front of me today.

“Maybe just for a minute.” 
Little arms and legs crawled up into her lap. 
Little fingers traced the lines in her cracked hands. 
Little head cradled warm into the nook under her chin. 
And they sighed together.

…

It was her lunch hour. The worn treaded tires pulled in quick up to the curbside near the school. The clouds threatened rain, so she threw the hood of her rain coat over her straightened hair and paused. Just for a moment. And then she quickened up the school stairs, collected the bursting bookbag, the outdoor shoes, tucked the splash pants under her armpit and autographed the sign out book.

She sat across the table from her growing child listening to the school’s morning activities and struggling to push her work aside. Lunch, email, meeting, phone call, email. Errands, email, organize, prepare, email. Study, email, after school pick up, email.

“I don’t get you all to myself very often.” Startled by her own voice she pushed the list aside and caught her adolescent’s face light up. “Thank you for doing lunch with me.”

I have so much to do. Maybe I could have done this later. There are so few hours to accomplish all that is in front of me today. She pushed the internal dialogue away.

Just for this minute.
Squishy eyes twinkled with mischief at the joke.
Dimples deepened evidencing musical laughter.
Arm in arm, shoulder-nearly-to shoulder they walked to the car.
And they sighed together.

…

It was Friday night. The week had been full and busy. She was tired as she lugged her work bags in the back door, sat them on the floor and started supper. She pulled the cast iron pan from the cupboard, dropped cubes of butter and garlic and watched them sizzle.  Just for a moment. And then she pulled veggies from the fridge and began chopping, boiling water, broiling cheesy bread.

Her adult child walked in the door and sat on the cold kitchen floor, so she temporarily forgot her worries of the day. Meetings and emails, bills and errands, studying, laundry and dishes. They all faded.

“I’m so happy to be home.”

Startled by the adult in the voice, her list disappeared, and her love echoed the sentiment. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

She had nothing more important to do. Nothing that couldn’t wait until later. There are so few hours to accomplish what really matters today. Her internal dialogue gave way.

She cherished this moment.
Hands clasped and unclasped in attempts at explanation.
Eyes glistened and filled with hopes and fears of the unknown.
Voice trembled with passion and intensity.
And they sighed together.

Your presence is my greatest gift.