Fierce Mother-Love

Too late to ask someone to cover for me, I realized that this is a difficult year for me to be preaching on Mother’s Day.  Since Mom's unexpected death, this has been and continues to be a period of reflection on what she means to me, what I learned from her, how she shaped me.  It is a time of sorting through challenging interactions and lighthearted ones, wanting to understand her better by looking at things more closely than I did when we were in the midst of them. I find myself wrestling as much meaning and understanding as I can from every memory.  

My sister and I have spent a lot of time talking about these memories, about our thoughts and feelings related to Mom and to who we are in light of this most basic relationship we have.  We are trying to help each other through, trying to make sense of the way our lives have unfolded so far, and what we want our futures to look like.  In so many ways, my mom’s legacy in my life is something I am only just beginning to unpack.  Even after all of these years, I don’t have the full picture yet – in my head or my heart.  What I do know is that I was well loved by her, and still am.

I think of the time when Mom came to help out at a community event where the church I serve sold baked goods, fresh lemonade & a refreshing Vermont drink called "shrub".  It was soon after my former husband had left, so I was feeling pretty overwhelmed by life - continuing my ministry, caring for a home and garden all on my own, parenting my twin daughters through their own emotions and responses to the divorce and maintaining my commitment to homeschooling them.  In those days, Mom made a point of coming up to Vermont at just the right time to help out with church yard sales or other big events.  

At the end of this particular community day, we packed up everything (which included loading the girls' bikes on the back of the car) and finally got into my old Nissan stanza wagon.  As I maneuvered to get out of the parking lot, I had to back up a bit and ended up slowly backing the bikes into a tree which pushed one of the bike handles through the rear window.  When I heard the sound and felt the crunch, I got out of the car and went to see what had happened.  

Mom followed me, and grabbed me into the strongest, fiercest hug I had ever felt from her.  She held me like that as I just lost it.  I cried way more than a broken window warranted, and I am pretty sure she knew that.  She knew I was grieving everything I had lost, everything that had fallen apart and I didn't know how to put back together.  It was in those moments that I knew Mom was really there for me, even if she was usually more reserved about expressing her love.  I knew she was capable of a fierce hug when I needed it, of fierce, protective mother-love when it counted the most.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  I love you!

(The sunset view from Mom & Dad's balcony in Florida.)