THE HUG

Two weeks ago we took mom to church with us. Usually if she is upset when we pick her up, we will turn on a CD of her niece singing the old hymns of the Faith. This has a soothing effect on her nearly every time, except that Sunday. Nothing seemed to calm her. She talked under her breath throughout the service and huffed and sighed along with scowling and shaking her head. When the invitation was given we had to stand in the row in such a way that she couldn’t push past and rush out of the church. When we went to leave, she didn’t want anything to do with me. She didn’t want to go to the car because she “knew that I intended to take her somewhere she didn’t want to go.” I took her into the Ladies Restroom before we left, and she came across the room with her finger pointing and demanded to know “what business my dad had being at her house.” Long story short, we got her to her home and she growled as she got out of the car and stomped her way to the house that she “WAS NOT HAPPY about coming to this house and being left with that man.”

This week, I must admit, it was with some hesitation and anxiety that we picked mom up for church. The trip to church was quiet and pleasant conversation occasionally punctuated the ride. When we got to church, my sister was in the foyer greeting guests. Mom saw her and decided that she would go home with her, since my sister had attended the earlier service, and that we would pick her up after lunch together at my sister’s home. The day was one of those rare days when I caught glimpses of My Mom, not just this new mom. It was one of those treasure box days that you will log into your memory for when the days get tough again

The sight I treasure most happened when we pulled in at her home. She got out of the car and excitedly hurried to the house. She searched the large kitchen windows as she hurried up the sidewalk. When she went into the house, she began calling for my dad, “Anyone here? Are you here?” She heard him call out from the back of the house and she raised her arms up in an open hug greeting and rushed down the hall way toward him as he came from the back room. I don’t know what was better, watching her rush to hug him, or watching the delight and surprise on his face as she greeted him with a hug, a kiss, and a “Hello Hun!”

Here I am, almost fifty years old, a mother of four and grandmother of eight, and it still lifts my spirit, lightens my heart, and makes me feel warm and safe, to see that type of love expressed between my dad and mom. That is a legacy I want to leave for generations to come. I want them to know that seasons may come and seasons may go but the love their parents, or grandparents, share for each other, like the love of God, is eternal.