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Your Mother is Always With You

I was in a day of training with my phone on silent, when I felt it buzzing and saw that it was Brenda calling. I left the room to answer, thinking that there must be an urgent need, for her to call me in the middle of the work day. 

"Hi Mom, are you busy?" she said, "I wanted you to know that I loved your blog post today, and I've been thinking about Omie all day today."

Later that evening, I got home from work and put the finishing touches to the dinner preparation for the cell group, and just before everyone was due to arrive, I called Brenda back because I felt badly that I hadn't had time to say more than a few words earlier. She told me how today she'd been telling everyone at the college she works at, about her Omie, and what she had meant to her. 

One of her friends asked her, "What has your Omie given to you today?" When Brenda asked her what she meant, she asked, "What did you like to do together?" Brenda thought for a minute and said, "We would always have tea together," then she suddenly realized that one of the parents had just put a cup of tea on her desk. A little while later, her friend and coworker, Tammi, also brought her a cup of tea. "Do you think I'm weird, Mom?" she asked, meaning that it felt like they were sent by Mum.

"If you're weird, then I'm a lot weirder!" I laughed. I knew exactly what she meant. 

We were still talking when the front door opened and Jane, Barb and Kathy came in, laughing and chatting. We were finishing our conversation and but before I said goodbye, I told her who had arrived. "Oh, say hello!" she said, and they chorused back, "Hello to you, Brenda, we miss you!"

"I miss you too," she called, and then was gone.

I told our friends the story about the tea, and just then, Kathy handed me a small bundle wrapped in a paper napkin. "Scott sent these for you Belinda," she said, "He made these Welsh cakes from my mother's recipe and wanted me to bring them to you."

My eyes filled with tears at the fact that Scott, not knowing that it was the anniversary of Mum's death, and never having done anything like this before, had sent me a tiny package of something made from a mother's recipe.

Just then Susan arrived, and put a piece of piece of paper on the counter top. She said it was something she had just come across this week, and thought of Mum. I picked it up and read it out loud to everyone in the kitchen. Michelle had also just arrived, with Paul, and the kitchen was full now, of people, and not a few moist eyes.

The piece by an unknown author was entitled:
Your Mother is Always With You
She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street. She's the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick, and perfume that she wore. She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not feeling well. She's your breath in the air on a cold winter's day. She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colours of the rainbow. She is Christmas morning.
Your Mother lives inside your laughter. She's chrystallized in every teardrop. A mother shows every emotion...happiness, sadness, fear, jealousy, love, hate, anger, helplessness, excitement, joy, sorrow...and all the while, hoping and praying that you will only know the good feelings in life.
She's the place you came from, your first home, and she's the map you follow with every step you take. She's your first love; your first friend, even your first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate you. Not time, not space...not even death.
All of these little gifts made this a day of celebration, not mourning. A day when I thought of a mum who filled our tanks full of enough love to carry us until we meet again.

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