Everyday Isn't Mother's Day?

...well there certainly is more than one Mother's Day during the year in my world. And I don’t mind that - not one bit! My mother and I have grown closer through the years. I suppose she's had fun observing where I was in life's development cycle (terrible twos, puberty, rebellious teens, etc.) from her perspective, anyway. Looking back, I notice that she would pay little to no attention to the foolish actions of my youth, but would somehow still manage to creatively enforce her rule for repeat offenses, and mastered making milestone achievement celebrations brief yet significant. I have grown to value these tactics as an adult navigating through life.

In my late teens and early twenties, I really thought I was so mature, "wise beyond my years." At least that's what people used to tell me. I think. Little did I know that - even though I (relatively) had encountered my share of challenges - I still had so much more to experience. I looked back at every new instance thankful that I had my mother; if not with me physically, then it was consciously as a voice of reason, or a reminder of severe consequences for irresponsible behavior. In actuality, she is still with me in the same ways.


May 13, 1990 - Mother's DayYou were newly separated after nearly 20 years of marriage and I was newly separated from the only life I knew and (for the most-part) cherished. I guess we were both sad for our losses and new realities, but we were taking our sadness in stride. The steady rain that fell that day was symbolic – a milieu for our melancholy existence that day, and in so many other ways. We got dressed and ready to take a 45 minute drive to a neighboring county for a visit with your mother ('Grandma' to me) - who was back in the state, living with your sister and her family. We talked about what I was experiencing in school (being teased and picked on by the same group of girls). You empathized and would strategize with me techniques to apply throughout the day of my "elementary school daze" [I had trouble coping with the changes and would daydream relentlessly-according to my teachers]. All of a sudden, I heard you scream. My search to discover what troubled you in such a way, was interrupted by a truck coming towards-and then colliding with our car. The impact of the collision tossed our bodies in the car. It was a total loss.

Well, not totally...

The paramedics shouted through the shattered glass, "Ma'am, DON'T move!" Using the Jaws of Life, they would feverishly work to pry the driver's side door open in efforts to get to you. I still vividly remember you being asked, "Ma'am can you hear me?!" My scared ten-year-old self watched, weeping, hoping that you would respond to them. Eventually, you did respond; but not to them, to God. I listened in wonder, hearing you declare how good God was for sparing you. I was now scared and confused. Apparently, the paramedics also mistook your seemingly inappropriate praise and worship. They repeatedly insisted to one another, "She’s in shock!" When you finally responded to them, you were able to describe the level of pain and where it was on your body. I remember there being a nice couple that approached the passenger's side of the car. They asked if I was O.K. and if I was able to get out of the car. I don't remember talking, just opening the door to seek refuge in the arms of some maternal being. Though I didn't know her, she cradled me in the most familiar way. I watched as your injured body was laid on a stretcher and hoisted into the ambulance. I watched the man driving the truck that hit us, climb out and walk with the police on scene. I pointed him out hollering, "He did this! There he is!" Only to be hushed by the police and walked to the ambulance -- being comforted by the woman and her male companion. I needed to be with you.

There was chaos.

Though the hospital was not nearby, it seemed the ambulance got there in just moments. I was carried out of the ambulance by one of the medics -- holding the Teddy Bear he gave me. I sat in the hospital waiting room and was later joined by our former neighbors and family friends. Between sobs, I recounted all that I could recall to them, trying to describe every detail. They gave me a quarter for the payphone to call your sister ('Aunty' to me)...

You returned home bandaged, bruised, and would later undergo major surgery on your knee, shoulder and face. And we (your son/my brother and I) nursed you toward recovery. We both assumed our roles in coming to your aid the only way we knew and were advised. He would manage things around our new down-sized residence, and I would help bathe and clothe you. We didn't have to feed you, because your jaws were wired shut. You were able to consume fluids, however. So you drank to your heart’s content -- avoiding alcoholic beverages. You grew tired of liquids just in time for the wires to be removed. And as God would have it, your recovery was successful.

We made it, Mommy!

In the years to come, we would continue to make it. As life would toss chaotic circumstances at us, I would watch you enter the Throne Room, offering your personal praise and worship in sacrifice - and we would make it. It was a GRAND lesson. Perhaps the best lesson (of many) you could have ever taught me: to do my best in engaging in praise and worship when all seems well, so that I know to continue when life becomes chaotic. I have personally lived to see this method tested and proved time and time again!

GRANDMothers

My Vow