I feel like I know her

A man in a blue shirt with a bright smile walked into our mother’s room.  She just knew it was Robert (my sister, Cindy’s husband). 

“Robert”, mother began and then could only say “the foot of the bed”. Mother always has a little project for him.

 It was not Robert, but instead our Hospice Chaplain.

We assured him that if our mother thought he was Robert that was a good thing.

Cindy and I were delighted to have contact with anyone from Hospice because we had some questions.

As it happened, he was delighted to have contact with us.  He wanted to know about our mother. 

So for the next hour, we told him stories – of when we were little, traveling with them to various Gideon conventions, being with mother when she prayed for a parking space, and even begging for a little brother.  

Later I was remembering the afternoon which although the chaplain’s visit had been very dear, was painful.  This is not a fun time. 

 And then I walked past my dining room table. 

I looked at the scrapbooks, photographs, and some of mother’s drawings and remembered that earlier that day I had re-read some of the love notes mother got for one of her birthdays.

My mother was a real note writer.  So when she was approaching one of her birthdays (well into her 80's), I put together a scrapbook - named it "I've a Warm Heart" and ask for people to send a love note to her.  On that birthday I handed her the scrapbook and suggested that she watch as daddy and I planted a crepe myrtle in my front yard.

She liked it so much that she later drew it.  And every year I impatiently wait for the pink blooms to cover it.  Mine is slower than others.

Your mother is a remarkable woman", the Hospice Chaplain had said

"I feel like I know her". 

I  thought back to something I have often said:

 “I wish everyone could have a mother like  I do”.  

But I’m certainly not willing to let anyone have her.  (Except, of course. Cindy and Lester).

May your life have enough sunshine

To make you appreciate the shadows