House on the Rock

I’m up before dawn on a Sunday in May — one week away from the now-dreaded day when many in our midst will don floral dresses and pick up a bouquet on their way to Sunday brunch. I was among those scrambling children once. “Sorry it’s not much,” we’d all shrug, hopeful that ten-dollar daisies might possibly stand a chance at thanking the woman who labored, and never stopped laboring, to bring our world to life.

My email pings with a notification: Mother’s Day Buffet. Book your reservations before the last spot slips away. I think of the way we raced from our beds that Mother’s Day morning sixteen years ago. She beamed at our undercooked pancakes for one. Three puffy-eyed children made a mess of the kitchen to make sure Mom knew just how much she was loved. I’m sure she still did all the dishes. I delete the email with a solemn sigh at how quickly the years — our lives — pass us by. I’d love to cook for her today.

The sun starts to rise and I gaze out my window. The family next door sets out to walk a lap. The mom and her daughter fall quickly in step, their pace noticeably quicker than the rest of their pack. I watch their synchronized stride, hands open wide, gesturing too-dramatic tales of workplace woes and parenting fails. I think of the Mother’s Day just before starting high school. We probably hiked seven miles like a race and I limp-shuffled just trying to keep up with her pace. But I told her my dreams and she prayed they’d come true — she told me there’s nothing you cannot do! Now I turn from the window as the family strides away, and I think how I’d love to walk with her today.

I glance at my baby curled up on the sofa. The sun rays warm his two tiny feet. His chest rises and falls ever so slowly as he basks in a three-month-old bubble of peace. I think back to the last Mother’s Day before she left us. We changed from our Sunday best into sweats. The board games died down, so we gathered around and cuddled together in a heap on the couch. She made sure all three kids were within her arm’s reach as she drifted off to a well-deserved sleep. Now I slump beside my baby in the very same way as I think of how much I’d love to snuggle her today.

And as much as this week leaves an ache of what’s missing, I think she’d request we keep carrying on. I’ll still go buy daisies, but I’ll give them to my grandmas, who have wiped every tear since my mama’s been gone. I’ll make a buffet and have everyone over — the family reunion she so deeply embraced. We’ll set out on a walk once the table’s been cleared, and I’ll beg the boys to please go at her pace. I’ll come back home and I’ll snuggle my family — if we’re lucky, we’ll all fall asleep on the couch. I’ll make sure everyone’s within an arms’ reach, just like she would be doing if she were here with us now.

Nothing’s the same since she went home to Heaven — there’s a hole in our world that can’t be ignored. But I’ll still go buy daisies and we’ll pull ourselves through all those quirky traditions our mama adored. We’ll think much of our Mom — a beautiful example of a nearly-perfect mother-turned-friend. But then we’ll think even more of our Jesus, who overcame death so that we’ll be together again.