The Way My Mom Loves

If you want a glimpse into how my mom loves, you can follow the clues on her hands.

They are practical: trimmed nails, subtle color, nothing dramatic. They are busy: often moving, ready to grab a broom, dust pan, or spatula.

Over the years, her practical and busy hands have revealed her fierce love for many.

They’ve changed diapers and wrapped wounds.

They’ve held tiny, lifeless babies fresh from the wombs of the weeping Warao in the jungles of Venezuela.

They’ve scratched my back, while legalistic sermons lulled me to sleep in the pew.

They’ve enveloped the heaving shoulders of her cancer patients.

They’ve jotted Algebra equations on jagged pieces of scrap paper.

They’ve tied shoes, pulled weeds, written poems, tickled piano keys, scrubbed floors, baked pies, hung picture frames, made beds, stitched pillows, ironed shirts, folded laundry, strummed guitar strings, mended clothes, and welcomed countless folks into her home. Again and again and again.

Then Parkinson’s came calling. It was quiet at first, then more insistent, peeking in windows and demanding her attention. For a decade, she pushed her tiny frame against the door, refusing to let it enter. But Parkinson’s will have its way. Eventually. It broke in and wracked her body with tremors and fatigue and a host of other complications.

But she continues to fight.

When energy permits, she creates more memories and takes fun road trips with my dad. She continues to encourage and pray for me and my siblings and their families. She makes an effort to communicate with her 12 grandkids. She plays Scrabble and wraps gifts and leads a Bible study in her neighborhood. She looks to meet the needs of others.

As with any progressive disease, the ticking clock reminds me that PD is not yet satisfied but I don’t want to grieve the unknown future–I want to savor the moments of the present.

I want my kids to craft meaningful memories with her that they’ll carry in their tender hearts for decades to come. I want them to know their Grammy, to see the strength of her spirit, to learn that no matter what horrors come knocking on their own doors, they can choose to live selflessly, to trust in the goodness of God in the midst of the awful. They can refuse the easy route of wallowing in self-pity. They can find another way–a better way.

This is the way of my mom.

There may come a day when she will need a cane, a wheelchair, a stronger dose, a newer drug, a longer nap. Or more.

But not today.

Today she will arrive to our home. She will help feed hungry bellies, roll dice for a competitive game of Monopoly, and turn pages with snuggling babes on her lap. Her love will continue to pour out through her hands.

I’m grateful for this mom who makes an effort to be with us, no matter the distance, time, or expense. She seems to find a way to ‘get there’, especially for significant events like the arrival of a baby, a move out of state, or a grandson’s surgery.

While I know our time on earth is limited, as it is for all of us, I’m thrilled to celebrate her this week and the way she’s nurtured me these past 40+ years.