“For Judy”

I spent last weekend celebrating my sister-in-law’s new marriage. During that time, I had the opportunity to reconnect with family and friends I hadn’t seen for some time. For many of those, life was the same; for others, it had changed. And for others still, they had been changed by life.

You inherit many things when you marry into a new family, and one of those treasures is the friendship and love of those who love your new family. In our family, Judy is one of those blessings.

I hadn’t seen Judy in almost a year, and during that time, her life had changed. With two children of her own, both grown and married, she’d faced a day no parent should face. Seen a sight no parent should see. And now, six months after her first born, Heidi’s, passing, she is living a life no parent should live: one without her child.

We visited and shared and cried together, and through a mother’s grief, I was able to grab on to a ribbon of lasting truth. In spite of her loss and her total devastation-or maybe because of it-Judy reminded me how important it is to cherish every day with my boys. To be thankful and appreciative for every sticky finger, every glass of spilled milk and every defiant “no” my boys throw my way. Because every day with our children in our lives is a blessing.

So, inspired by a mother and her daughter, a woman I never met, I scribbled this tribute on a brown paper bag, in the middle of a hot summer day, on the carpet of my own mother’s piano room floor.

For Judy

As we lay there curled around each other,
both ironically in our own version of the fetal position,
your hands twisting about in my freshly washed hair,

I watch your eyes as they stare and blink and stare,
trying desperately to focus on anything besides that sleepy world
that awaits you behind those big brown orbs.

You blink…slowly, allowing your gaze to laze about
under those beautiful dark lashes
only a grown woman should possess.

Your eyes roll about.
They close.
They jump back open with what little force your weak and tired body can muster
after a long day of hitting and catching and sliding in the dirt.
And finally, they come together
like the closing of a curtain
on opening night.

I wait, not sure if you’ve truly drifted
into that peaceful slumber
you so desperately need.

And in this moment, I think of the mothers
whose children are past the age of naptime
and snuggling and holding them
just because.

I know that for us too, this day will quickly come.

I think of the mothers who have watched their children
sleep a different kind of slumber.
One to which there is no moment of joy
when they open their eyes. Refreshed.
Renewed.

I pray I will never know a day such as this.

I lay there, still, and in this
moment of moments
when time seems to stand at my attention,

I thank God for my sons.
For their hearts.
For their spirits.
For their sadness.
For their joy.
And mostly for their presence.

I feel your body jerk.
I know for certain you have entered
that wonderful world of sleep.

I know you will awaken with a smile and a thumb
and yet another moment where you want me,
Your Mama, to hold you tight,
snuggle in beside you
and lavish in the perfection
that is simply being together.

And that’s All in a day’s work.