It’s May in Pennsylvania and the jonquils have passed on, creating space for the violets and the May Apple blossoms that bloomed in secret under their large green canopies and shady places in the woods behind our home. My mom would point them out to me on our many walks among the trees, gently lifting up the leaves so I could see the waxy white and yellow flowers that opened up underneath, and nudging away the scrub pine to expose a tiny patch of exquisite dark purple. In the field across the street, we would pick daisies (her very favorite), buttercups, and indian paintbrushes and bring them home, and she would put water into coffee cups and bud vases to hold our collections and fill our home with a sense of comfort and sweetness.
My mom taught me how to pay to attention to nature, and from my earliest years, instilled in my heart a sense of wonder and awareness of the miracles that exist all around me, and with each changing season, and in every new day, I have had the blessing of witnessing the way my mom’s tender heart and careful eyes could see the beauty in just about everything and everyone, whether it blossomed out in the open sunlight, or lay hidden in the dark and shady places of a person’s circumstance, she was always present to the hope and possibility in every being. Her remarkable life was a cherished gift to me, to my life, to my husband and kids, and to the lives of so many.
Our walks in the woods became walks through the experiences of my days as a sad teenager, a somewhat untethered young adult, a new mother, a marriage, and the day to day of living life in a complex and multi-layered world. And while we disagreed on a lot of things, she was always the first person I’d call if I wanted real advice, support, a prayer, or just a space to say all the things I felt I needed to say and not be judged or dismissed. And, without fail, she always ended our talks with “I’ll be praying for you.”
My mom was my home. She was my inner-circle best friend. She was my safe place for holding all the very hard and heavy things of life, and celebrating all the joys and blessings- both the profound and the seemingly insignificant. She was solid, yet soft, and quiet in the way she worked magic, never seeking attention or recognition for herself but always acknowledging the gifts and the loveliness of a world she tended to so thoughtfully, with a full and open heart, always channeling her faith through her kindness, time, and genuine interest in the happiness and well-being of those around her.
I’ve always thought that my favorite flowers were daisies, too, but truly, my favorite flower in all of God’s creation is my mom.
Her last words to me on June 4, were, as always, “I’ll be praying for you.” And I hope she never stops, because I am needing those prayers now more than ever. I can’t begin to imagine the days ahead without her, but I am forever filled with gratitude that God blessed me with such a miracle of a mom and I will be thankful everyday for her unshakeable and extraordinary love.