Me, the Sun and the Cat (Mother's Day)

It's a beautiful morning, with just the slightest haze of cloud diffusing the sun in her brilliant elegance. I'm sitting on the front stoop, with a bowl of granola, an ice-cold orange juice and Unusual the cat. I just finished making breakfast for my dear mother, and it's time to contemplate the meaning of Mother's Day.

Sometimes I think we turn this day into more of a ritual, something everybody does so their mother doesn't feel left out. I remember my panic yesterday as I was reminded of the impending appearance of this day, and my impending doom to mediocrity... I didn't have a special present!

Taking advantage of my distracted state, kitty is tasting my granola. I shoo him away and return to my musings. My mother has always been good to me. Being the oldest, I enjoyed special privileges in my young years, but all of us siblings have gotten the same treatment: breakfast in bed, a massage when you're sore, someone to talk to when life gets rough...

The cat is gone, along with my granola. I don't mind the solitude; picking up the orange juice, I lean back and look up at the sky. I remember the times when I needed advice about girls, those strange, fair things who are so intriguing, yet so confusing to us males... she was such a help, patiently explaining that they never really will make up their minds. I think of the future and begin to feel sorry for the woman I will marry: she will have so much to live up to! I remember Mom's advice: Never compare wife's cooking to mother's cooking. I smile too, thinking of the fun the two will have: Mom has always spoken of future daughter-in-laws with so much anticipation. There is a tinge of envy too, as she knows how they will take her boys away from her.... but she is content, to see us happy.

The sun is lighting my face now, bright and warm, heralding the successful birth of a new day. I think of my own birth, my childhood, the trouble I caused and the grey hairs I have placed on her head. I remember my seven consecutive cats, all named Frisky, which she put up with for years; she didn't even like cats. I remember the empathy, the comfort, as one by one I said goodbye to my pets, her gentle embrace as I learned about death, suffering and pain. I remember the strength, the assurance she gave, as, dealing with the death of her own mother, she explained to all of us children to look to the hope we have in Jesus.

I remember what day it is today: Sunday. Mother's Day is always on a Sunday, perhaps as a fitting reminder of the faith that mothers pass to their children. I remember the lessons in Christianity that I learned from Mom, the unshakable faith she portrayed to us children, every step of the way. I think about the bedtime prayers, and realize how many, and how earnest, the prayers that would rise from her bed, long after we were soundly sleeping. I think about the times when my life was the hardest; whether friendless, or jobless, helpless or hopeless, she always let me know that she was praying for me. And I could feel it too, her prayers were making a difference. Thank God for mothers!

I get up and go inside, praying a prayer of thanksgiving, my heart light and my spirits high. I've figured out what I can give her for Mother's Day: the biggest hug a son has ever given. A tear forms in the corner of my eye, and I wipe it away... I love you Mom!