5/4/15. 6:00 am. This blog will post. Why at 6:00? Because it is the time you faithfully rise at 6:00 a.m each morning. The sun rises and you begin your motherly duties.
5/3/15 at 9:39. This blog is being written. Why at 9:40? Because. Just because. That is the only answer I have for you when I wake up tomorrow morning and you ask me why I am bright eyed and bushy tailed from staying up late. I am writing. For most mothers, this Sunday is mother’s day, but for you it is mother’s week.
Yes, you might disapprove of me staying up late with the madness of Monday a com’n. I watch the full moon stretch across the sky and I know morning is drawing near. With it is the morning light of tomorrow.
This blog part one begins a week of words and actions that I hope will express to you how much the word Mom means to me.
Today you took us fiddle head picking. We clambered out of the car sticky and hot because the windows don’t roll down and the car has no air conditioning. Down the steep bank I stomped hoping I would leave steps in the soft mud for you to follow after. We picked. I picked fast not caring about which feathery fern I picked but thinking about the mass quantity of food I would soon consume for supper. I glanced up once and was startled by your contemplation in the midst of my hurried disposition. Your lovely figure, bent over a small hump of those delicious morsels, decided which ferns you would cut and which you would leave to the nurturing ways of the earth.
And I who was so focused on the nourishing quantity never once took the time to partake of the aesthetic quality which feeds the human soul.
You, who just that morning, radiated with delight when you told of how you and Dad freed a trillium from its bonds. You showed grace upon even a flower by lifting a leaf from its spear like, rigid body. In ecstatic relief, the little flower expressed its gratitude by unfurling its cramped petals in a swirl of delight before your eyes. It is exactly the image of a young child who rubs the sleep from her eyes, balls up the fists and unfurls her fingers and arms wide for your motherly embrace.
You who nourished us as babies and you who so overflow with grace that your love extends to even the trillium. This is and forever will be the beginning of my remembrance of you.
This is why I do not choose to take one day to honor you. Even seven days are not enough. In fact, even if I sat here every night for a lifetime I could not say enough, express enough or think of all the ways you have demonstrated your love for your children (even if you never let us have a dog). We are your nine Bassette hounds. You have demonstrated to us the love of Christ. God is love. If God’s love, which you have loved us with, is eternal, then the ways of love are eternal. It is an eternal inability to write all the things that have happened in my love filled short life.
All though I am incapable of saying all that could be said, I do believe seven days are sufficient to say thank you. And even though my words are not perfect, my typos by this moon light hoorendis and the chance of some sleep deprivation, my words do express in their utmost simplicity thank you. Thank you for being Mom.
~Love one of your Bassette Hounds