Today it rained over me like a flood: I don’t know what I’d do without my mom. More than anyone else she has embodied love and revealed it to me in the way she willingly folds into my life, picking up the pieces of my needs, filling in the holes and closing up the gaps.
Yesterday I called her to ask for help at home. “I’ll be there at 10 tomorrow morning,” she said.
After finishing a walk and tidying the kitchen, I saw the glare from her windshield slicing the sky on its way up our drive. Sure and dependable, mom hugged her car to the green grass of our side yard and emerged, tools in hand.
Working side-by-side we traded rags for vacuums and swapped sprays for gels. Never once a raised eyebrow. Never once a complaint.
Instead: love. Conversation stripped of any pretense. Honesty.
With tender hand she has gathered up the corners of my heart and drawn it closer to her own. And as the years fall away, my heart grows acutely, achingly aware of the reality that one day, hers will stop beating.
Who will I call?
Who will show that kind of love? Or be there to stand at my side?
A mother’s love is special. It is different from the love of a husband; distinct from the love of a sister.
It is comfort incarnate. It is safety with skin.
There are not words for that kind of love, except that it must be the dim looking-glass revealing the love of God here on earth. I can scarcely imagine the brilliance of beholding perfect love at the feet of Christ, when what I glimpse now is so beautiful.
That beautiful love is what my mom shares with me. Showers over me.
May I one day be to my own daughter what she is in my life.