Our time with my Mom has been so precious. But, that's precisely the point. I wish it didn't have to be precious. I wish it could be commonplace. These years are slipping by, these sweet, sweet years, and she isn't here to share them every day. She is here so much, and we visit her as much as we are able with two young children and air travel being what it is nowadays; we talk on the phone almost daily. And, we love her, and she loves us. But, that's not what I'm talking about.
What about all the holidays and the birthdays? All the dance recitals, all the ballgames, the Sunday dinners, the sick days and scraped knees and sleepovers for no reason? This is my mother's heritage, the inheritance of a life spent lavishing love on her only child, the deserved blessing of an adoring grandmother to two beautiful children. I long to be able to drive over to her house, unannounced, and sit and talk for hours, or have her ring me up to go Christmas shopping or to take the kids to the park for an hour. I want the common, mundane, everday blessing of her.
Oh, to take it all for granted--what sweet bliss. Better, to have the luxury of taking it for granted and yet not taking it for granted. I suppose that's what the last three weeks have been. And, what a gift to have a mother who my whole family cherishes so, to have a mother who stirs up such longings for physical closeness in her grown-up daughter's heart. This is a blessing in itself and a great one. Then, am I ungrateful, at the end of this precious time, to shed tears and want more?
* The Bookworm's Library has been updated: Howards End by E. M. Forster, Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton