Our son is in the habit of calling often on his way home from work. He leaves work late and we are often eating supper in front of the T.V. when the phone rings. We exchange a smile and glance, point the remote towards the T.V. and mute the sound. We put the phone on speaker phone so that we can both join in the conversation, and set about putting the world to rights; it really should be in better shape by now!
This morning he called as I was putting on the morning coffee. I wrote entry number 477 in my Gratitude Journal a little later:
A morning call from Peter on his way to work, sharing in 10 minutes our current joys, victories, successes and our hearts. I love him and am so grateful that he is my son and that I have the continuing joy of motherhood, even at 63.And here is entry number 395:
For a visit for tea from Brenda; for granddaughters who miss us, but who are happy in their own beautiful home.And of course I am thinking of Mum, and found myself writing in a blog comment this week:
For children in their forties whom we love and would lay down our lives for, yet who are growing tall and straight and firm in lives of their own.
Some of the memories I treasure most, the sweetest ones, with my mother, who died two years ago, at 86, in England, are of our goodbyes, when although her communication was limited due to a stroke, we spoke heart to heart and soul to soul when we said, "Until we meet again;" both knowing that it meant on earth or in heaven. We acknowledged the reality of death. She soaked in our prayers together at bedtimes like a thirsty flower, and gripped my hands as an unspoken expression of solidarity in faith. When the time came that she went on before me, I could hardly find grief in my heart, so grateful was I for the times we had shared. I felt fulfilled, with nothing left undone and no regrets.For me, mother's day is not about perfect mothers or being celebrated, but about gratitude for the privilege of participating in it; and for the blessing of being mothered by someone who taught me that it was okay to be fallible in motherhood, but that loving much and well outweighs all the things we will beat ourselves up for getting wrong.