My Mother Comes

My mother came when I was waiting for the still birth of our first son. She made dinners and she made small talk. She washed dishes while Chris and I sat on the couch trying to find something to talk about that wasn't laden with grief. She stood beside and back while friends gathered with us for his memorial service.

My mother took a week off from work for the birth of Abigail. She made dinners and she cut up broccoli. She washed dishes while we got to know our baby. She stood beside and behind and she took pictures.

My mother came when Simon fell down the steps and knocked his teeth out. She cleaned up the mess all over the kitchen while she waited with Abigail. She took Abigail to stay with her, feeding chickens and visiting cows.

She came and sat in the waiting room with Simon when a picture frame fell on Abigail's hand. She kept Simon overnight for the surgery and sat in the waiting room when the cast came off.

When Chris called from an ambulance while I was riding in another, she came. She walked with him between emergency rooms. She made us breakfast and lunch and she cared for Abigail and Simon so we could look at other cars, ours demolished.

She came when I called from the emergency room again, waiting to be told this last pregnancy was ending. She stopped to see me in the same-day surgery pre-op area before coming to relieve our pastor's wife of babysitting duties. She made it in record time that day. She hugged me and held my hand. She checked and left and went to take Abigail and Simon trick-or-treating. On the way, they got pizza.

She knows just how long it takes to get from her house to mine in good times and in an emergency. She has figured out how to take the curves and descend the mountain. It is in her nature, she has a love written in the language of service ;she has a love grown in the heart of a woman who is called mother.