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A Modest Miracle
Dec. 22nd, 2008 06:44 pmToday I was home from work when my older daughter got home; remembering my own childhood, I had put on water and made hot chocolate. We had a lovely half hour together wrapping presents before she had to do her homework, and it made me think a lot about earlier Christmases and earlier times.
When I called my Mom tonight, she was sad, and lost, but happy to talk to me. I told her about all the things I had remembered--the tea and buttered popcorn she made on rainy days, the way she let us get up and watch the thunderstorms with her and my Dad in the middle of the night--hmm, tea and popcorn then, too--the way she turned every disaster into a celebration and every disappointment into laughter. We talked for a while, and she remembered, and for that space of time she wasn't lost, nor sad. And for a little while she felt like my Mom again.
When I called my Mom tonight, she was sad, and lost, but happy to talk to me. I told her about all the things I had remembered--the tea and buttered popcorn she made on rainy days, the way she let us get up and watch the thunderstorms with her and my Dad in the middle of the night--hmm, tea and popcorn then, too--the way she turned every disaster into a celebration and every disappointment into laughter. We talked for a while, and she remembered, and for that space of time she wasn't lost, nor sad. And for a little while she felt like my Mom again.
