A Mother's Day fable

Ya, ya, ya. So I wrote this blog about my mom on Mother's Day. Ever since then I've felt like this horrible hypocrite. Don't get me wrong, I meant every single word I said about my momma. It's just, well, it's just that that day was anything but a warm fuzzy day for me.
Aside from the giant hug from my own mom brought on by the salami cheese rolls, my Mother's Day was spent largely either in tears or on the verge of tears. The fact that there would be no trek across the field to gma's effected me more than I wanted to admit. She wasn't my mother but especially in those four months before she went Home, I morphed into this weird forth daughter kind of person. Mother's Day will never be quite the same without her. It just sucked. 
But that wasn't all that was amidst. My own children didn't seem to recognize that I deserved to be recognized that day. (Insert sarcasm here) Don't get me wrong, the instantaneous "Happy Mother's Day" from my oldest as we walked into the dollar store was welcomed but tempered with the fact that I had just mentioned it was Mother's Day. Ya, I was fishing for acknowledgement. So what? My middle guy apparently offered his own verbal version of accolades in the middle of me having to get on to him for something - a fact reported to me by my oldest so the jury is still out on the validity of the report. My youngest son? He didn't get any memos. Then there was my daughter.
Oh the lovely little pink Piggy - who had just days before in her anger thrown her soccer ball & beamed me, an innocent bystander, in the back of the head. In her anger, her stubborn side (which comes from her dad, I assure you) refused to let her apologize to me. One day. Two days. Three days passed. No apology. She walked in with this tiny bouquet of flowers from gma's yard, offered, "I'm sorry I hit you with my soccer ball. Happy Mother's Day." And there it was. My Mother's Day 2016. I know you're fabulously jealous.
Monday I spent the day fighting a horrible headache & celebrating at my pity party for one. No, really. The only thing missing was a white cake with buttercream icing. I played my music & cleaned the house so lovingly left a mess. I'm sure left that way ensuring I wouldn't get bored the day following such a fabulous outpouring of about me-ness. It sucked. Mother's Day sucks.
So this morning when my pitiful self woke up with a debilitating headache, I was sure that I'd be on my own again. When my prescription strength painkillers for my back did nothing to curb the pain, I quickly found myself on the bathroom floor, laying on my robe, trying not to expel the nothingness that was in my stomach. I cried. Surprised? I didn't think so.
When I finally made it back to the bed, a tiny face peered through the crack in the bedroom door. "Momma? Are you ok?" I motioned her to me. "I really need some water baby girl." That was it. Like a call to arms, my children, the ones who two days before failed my expectations, immediately sprung into action.
Throughout the day, there were cups of water, an offer for the thermometer, repeated trips taking out the trash & rebagging the can, peeps through the cracked door and silence. Wonderful, beautiful silence. In my stupor and fog, I had missed the tray of food they had prepared at some point - a granny smith apple cut & cored, a cinnamon bagel topped with cinnamon sugar butter they had made because we were out, a Monster and a beautiful pink carnation from Piggy's own recital bouquet with a note - We hope you feel better soon.
The gravity of what transpired today didn't hit me until the fog wore of this evening. No, my children did not set aside this one day out of the year where society & culture tell them they have to acknowledge & praise me for doing my job. What did happen was something far greater. In a time when I needed them most, they set aside themselves & served me all day long. Those acknowledgements & servants' hearts speak volumes louder than any "Happy Mother's Day" ever could. They demonstrated their love, they didn't just say it.
I like to think that all moms wonder - Are my kids ever going to "get it"? Unfortunately for me, today my kids demonstrated that not only do they get it but they get it even when I don't. It's not that they didn't love me on Mother's Day, it's that they continue loving me the other 364 days a year.

Mother's Day & the opening of a new chapter

Ever since October 31, momma & I have ridden to our early, no EARLY, Saturday morning Bible study meeting together. Having spent hours together everyday this fall, Saturday became our stay connected time. Some Saturdays we sat together, especially those first months. It was a necessity for both us. The strength provided in sitting in even the most loving of circles didn't compare to the strength I gained in her gentle hand on my back when we would sing "In Christ Alone" or a question would strike particularly close to home. As time moved on, God began to strengthen us enough that we could sit apart, even across the circle from one another at times. After all, there would always be the ride home.
But it was always more than just a simple ride home. To be completely honest, most Saturdays neither of us really needed anything from the grocery store, it was just an excuse to spend more time together alone. Without fail, every week we ended up at of all places, Walmart. I am my mother's daughter in that "shopping" means groceries and I'm perfectly ok with that.
When caring for Gma P moved to the next level, our time together had an extended purpose. Most Saturdays looked like a morning begun with singing & prayer, sharing & listening, followed by a trip to Walmart, Kroger & Gma P's. Breakfast at 5am wouldn't last until 3 or 4pm so a solution had to be found.
I picked up a package of these totally amazing, totally greasy, totally comfort food salami cheese wraps. Mom grabbed the equally healthy donuts or zingers. When we were done shopping & loading the car, she'd toss me the hand sanitizer & a napkin. I'd open our second breakfast while she put the shopping cart away. She'd talk. I'd listen. Then I would talk & she would listen. In the middle of all of the chaos of life, a new tradition, one meant for just the two of us, was born. There was no question in my mind this week as to what I would offer this amazing woman as a small, but extremely meaningful, gift on Mother's Day.
You see, tomorrow night is our last night of our Revelation Bible study. I won't miss the 430am incessant beeping that came from my alarm. But I will miss the ladies who carried us through this fall with their texts, emails & prayers. I will miss my seniors, especially since I won't be their leader next year. I will miss spending Saturday afternoons with momma & Gma P alone. Most of all though, I'll miss  spending practically all day with my momma. For those few short hours every week, I had her undivided attention & she had mine.
It was in those hours that such wisdom & kindness was spoken. There was a kindred bond made in knowing we were equally invested in the tasks the week would unfold before us. Schedules were synced & plans of attack made. In love. With grace.
So if you call one Saturday morning & can't get ahold of either of us, please don't panic. We're probably on a back porch somewhere, with our phones turned off, playing the cd that Gma hummed along with until she went to sleep, syncing our schedules, making plans of attack, enjoying our salami, cheese & donuts, and talking about Jesus. Because I don't care how old I get, I'll always need time alone with my momma.