On Mothers Near and Far

I have been blessed with many "Moms" in my life.
It's been five years since I said goodbye to my lifelong mother-- who gave me life, nurtured my talents, and shared my dreams. I still miss her almost every day.  There are so many of my own mothering milestones left unshared, so many things I long to ask her, to tell her, to hear her tell me once more.

When she left, I was grateful for the gift of a kind and patient mother-in-law who offered to be my "Mommy on Earth" for a while.  Her kind ways and thoughtful ear have been a blessing as I make my way through the murky waters of motherhood.  She is so like my mother in many ways that our relationship gives me comfort.  I know I could not manage the demands of caring for Ellen and Kevin and myself and everything else without her.

Still, there is another Mother I am thinking of this week. My mom called her friend and confidante.  They shared many mothering milestones together as their children grew.  We children shared our mothers too.  Their family grieved my own mother's loss almost as dearly as our family did.  Though our adult lives have been very different, we will always share some precious childhood memories and the clear, sure knowledge that we were (and are) loved by our mothers and each others' for our whole lives. 

Somehow, knowing she was still around -- making chocolate chip cookies, doing needlework, and putting food coloring in her mashed potatoes -- made the absence of my Mom easier to bear.  I'm devastated to learn that Cancer has already begun to ravage her body, to consume the wry twinkle in her eye, and to wrestle her life from this Earth and from her children and grandchildren's world.  I don't wish that pain on anyone.   I didn't realize how painful it would be for me too.

If you are reading this, stop and think about the mothers you have had in your own life -- not just the one who kissed your boo-boos, packed your lunch, or signed your homework -- but the other women in your life who have offered guidance and comfort, cheered your accomplishments, and paved the way for your daily successes.  Tell them thank you.  As Elizabeth Edwards so aptly wrote on her way "up yonder" -- "The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered . . ."  Don't Wait.

I Thank God For You

Long ago in a church far away (metaphorically), I heard a sermon with this title.  The message that day was that a "church" was bigger than any single building, individual, or leadership structure -- that the community built within those walls was the real church and for that, he was thankful. I have thought of that day and that sermon many times since we came to Caldwell. I have even thought of putting pen to paper and recording the amazing truth of that message, but I never followed through with that notion.
Today, I don't know what else to do but give thanks for each and everyone of our extended community.  Whether you came to know us through Caldwell (or that "long ago" church), through Plaza, through school or the Brewmasters, or some other shared history, each of you has been amazingly generous with your time, talents and treasure.  Even before this latest mishap, so many of you embraced our evolving needs -- for rides for Kevin, for hugs for Ellen, and for neverending support for the interesting challenges we've navigated.  Through infertility, adoption, MS, surgeries, and just.plain.life, your love and kindness has always reflected the love of our Creator in our daily lives.
This month, as I receive the very clear message to "slow down" and even "sit still,"  I have also found myself literally speechless.  People I only know in passing are going out of their way to pick Kevin up and get him where he needs to go.  Someone has been here almost every day making sure the laundry is done, Ellen is happy, and we all are well-cared for.  People call and ask for more days to bring food, offer help I didn't even know to put on "the list," and continue to inspire me in ways big and small.
There are simply not enough ways to say thank you for the loving community you create for our family.  When this little malady recedes, I only hope I'll find my way through the daily gauntlet to be of similar support to each of you at some point in the future.