I started my day with Zumba at 8am and I have not stopped moving since. Five stops along the way and I still needed to drop something at my mother’s. I called her to see if I could drop by. She said it was too cold and she wasn’t going to church so c’mon over. Off I went. I was pooped, still in my workout clothes and had two more stops to make.
When I arrived at her house, the door was open and the smell of my old house comforted me. I have been a little stressed lately with kids, health and work. I instantly felt better.
“Can you sit for a few minutes?” she asked.
“Sure”, and we went into the living room to sit down.
My mother lives in the house we grew up in. There is a dining room and a living room- it is warm and welcoming. We chatted about the kids, what’s going on with them and how she worries about them.
“My knees hurt from praying so much!” This made me smile. The kids call her and tell her when they have exams or events that need a little divine intervention. I swear she has a hotline to God.
We continued to chat about politics, work and what’s going on in our community. I shared with her the events of the week. The sadness of a high school friend who is quite ill and the happiness of another who is a grandmother and a breast cancer survivor. My eyes watered when we talked about my own grandmother Amelia and how I still miss her so terribly 42 years later. My mind wanders to the day when my mom will be gone and I cannot face it.
I tell her I need to go to continue the day’s errands to be sure to get home to feed Izzy who I swear has an internal clock reminding her it’s time to eat. She hands me the various cartoons that she cut out of the newspaper, Moose Goose, The Far Side and other articles she thinks I would like to see.
I hug her goodbye and when I leave I slowly back out of the driveway. I do this because she always goes to the front door, comes out on the porch and waves goodbye. I smile at her Terry Bradshaw jersey proudly displayed in the front window.
That was the best 35 minutes I have spent all week.
Love your mothers. They are a gift and those of you that have lost your moms know this. I love my children and I hope they know it. Someday, maybe, they will visit me and laugh as they say, “My crazy mother is still doing Zumba at 92 years old!”
From their mouths to God’s ears!