Honour thy mother
It was Mother’s Day yesterday, so J and I went up to see Mum.
It wasn’t the most convenient day - J’s soccer match didn’t kick off until 11:15, didn’t finish until 1ish, so we didn’t get on the road until almost 1:45. The traffic was awful, a slow crawl, so a 1 and a half hour trip took well over 2 this time.
It wasn’t the most inviting day. Oh, sunny enough, but the wind was strong and gusty, and very cold. Not a good day for taking an elderly lady out for a drive, not one who has only just recovered from a terrible case of flu/pneumonia.
It wasn’t the most relaxing of days. I had Things to Do, washing, cleaning, we’d had a late night the night before and both J and I were tired. J had study as well (his exams start today).
But there was nothing on earth that would have stopped us going up there, and nowhere else we would have preferred to be. She saw the flowers, you see, and it clicked in her mind that it was Mother’s Day, that we were there because we love her.
She started to cry. ‘Happy’, she said, but the weepy feeling would come over her in waves every now and then.
Of course I cried too. Because was so much strength in the love given and received on both sides. Because it was the one, simple idea that she could hold onto for our whole visit. We were there because we love her. She is loved.
She may not remember who we are all the time, or even who she is. But she knows she is loved.
We had adjusted our plans from ‘afternoon tea at a nice cafe’ to ‘let’s stop on the way there, quickly buy some cakes and fruit (and a coffee for me) and have them in her room’ because of the windy weather’. We stayed an hour, talking (loudly!) about this and that, and that and this. And then it was time to say ‘Goodbye for now’.
‘When will you come and see me again?’ she always asks.
‘In one week. Next Sunday’.
We reinforced this message a few times (I write it in the notebook she keeps by the phone), but I know that next Sunday when I arrive she’ll be completely surprised and just won’t believe it. She’ll ask if it’s her birthday or some other special occasion, and I’ll say-as I always do-visiting Mum is always a special occasion. Each visit becomes more and more precious.
It wasn’t the most convenient day - J’s soccer match didn’t kick off until 11:15, didn’t finish until 1ish, so we didn’t get on the road until almost 1:45. The traffic was awful, a slow crawl, so a 1 and a half hour trip took well over 2 this time.
It wasn’t the most inviting day. Oh, sunny enough, but the wind was strong and gusty, and very cold. Not a good day for taking an elderly lady out for a drive, not one who has only just recovered from a terrible case of flu/pneumonia.
It wasn’t the most relaxing of days. I had Things to Do, washing, cleaning, we’d had a late night the night before and both J and I were tired. J had study as well (his exams start today).
But there was nothing on earth that would have stopped us going up there, and nowhere else we would have preferred to be. She saw the flowers, you see, and it clicked in her mind that it was Mother’s Day, that we were there because we love her.
She started to cry. ‘Happy’, she said, but the weepy feeling would come over her in waves every now and then.
Of course I cried too. Because was so much strength in the love given and received on both sides. Because it was the one, simple idea that she could hold onto for our whole visit. We were there because we love her. She is loved.
She may not remember who we are all the time, or even who she is. But she knows she is loved.
We had adjusted our plans from ‘afternoon tea at a nice cafe’ to ‘let’s stop on the way there, quickly buy some cakes and fruit (and a coffee for me) and have them in her room’ because of the windy weather’. We stayed an hour, talking (loudly!) about this and that, and that and this. And then it was time to say ‘Goodbye for now’.
‘When will you come and see me again?’ she always asks.
‘In one week. Next Sunday’.
We reinforced this message a few times (I write it in the notebook she keeps by the phone), but I know that next Sunday when I arrive she’ll be completely surprised and just won’t believe it. She’ll ask if it’s her birthday or some other special occasion, and I’ll say-as I always do-visiting Mum is always a special occasion. Each visit becomes more and more precious.