My mom would have been 60 today.
I wouldn’t have remembered if emails and phone calls hadn’t drifted across the deep, blue, Atlantic ocean and reminded me.
Sixty. That means she was 25 when she had me. The same age I was when I got married. When I hung up the phone and looked across the table at my baby Micah’s face – there she was staring back at me. The Dutch genes, all blue eyes and blond hair, staring baby-faced up at me. He is the image of my baby brother at the same age. Her youngest. What would she have made of my youngest?
When I was 17 I was cool for a brief, fleeting moment when the most popular boy in school developed a crush on me. I was the only one oblivious to the fact. My sadness made the rest of the world seem a little blurry around the edges. Not that I was oblivious to his coolness. Rather that I was submerged in the slow good-bye to my mother. Everything else was secondary. And since I felt like my existence had taken on a half-light quality, it was hard to imagine that others could see me when I was so seldom aware of my own outlines.
Then she came home for a brief period.
And I made up for lost time and at one swim meet had the chance to be a cheerleader. Our outfits were supposed to be made by our mothers. Mine, for once, was not in the hospital. And she sewed my teeny, tiny, green, polka dot skirt from scratch. I watched and waited by her side as she finished the hem. I remember the day in detail. It was warm and beautiful. I was impatient to get to the pool because I finally understood that there might be a boy there who would notice whether or not I arrived. She was slow finishing. She coughed a lot. It irritated me. The hankie she coughed into became more and more spotted with bright red every time she used it. I ignored it. I was ready to be normal. I was relieved to be spending time in the real world again.
So she sewed and coughed and dressed me and sent me off. We did not talk about how she felt. There wasn’t any need, really. We both knew.
Death and life side-by-side on a balmy South African afternoon.
She would have been sixty today if she hadn’t had something that made her cough the day she made my skirt.
A year after she died my dad gave me one of her Bibles. It had been his first and hers for the early years of their marriage. If ever I forget (like I did today) milestones in our separation, I have only to turn to the first page of that dog-eared text and read in her flowing cursive this reminder, “Promise for Lisa-Jo: Isaiah 65: (23 esp).”
And then I flip to that page and know exactly what she would think if she saw me surrounded by my own husband and sons. She would think that God had kept the promise he made her on September 1st, 1974 – one week after I was born:
“My chosen shall not labor in vain,
or bear children for calamity;
for they shall be the offspring of the blessed of the Lord,
and their children with them.”
She didn’t, we are, and ours will be.
Message received.
tears.
The richness of this wonderful text can only really hit us when its shown to us in such a beautiful way.
And it always amazes me how these special gifts are given to us just when we need them. “Hide it in your heart”. Your mom is certainly smiling down at you today and always.
Thank you for sharing. God bless.
Beautiful post.
I want to comment but I feel wordless. Those moments when you feel touched by God, intertwined with a familial touch. They tend to leave me with this swell of emotion that is both blessed, humbling, honored, and loved, and hard to put into words. Reading this post, I get that feeling *for* you, strangely.
Good post. Sorry you lost your mom so young.
As always, beautiful, eloquent.
Oh, and I’m an Isaiah 62 girl. (1-5, particularly 4)
So touching. Wow. I could almost picture your mom sewing and you waiting impatiently in typical teenager fashion. What a beautiful tribute to your mother. Losing her obviously shaped you and gave you a tenderness and compassion your boys will see in you as they grow. Perhaps your mom even knew your son would look like her before you saw that…?
Like others have said, I don’t think I have the words to respond, but want you to know how deeply this moved me. Tears were shed…
Thanks for the lovely words of affirmation, guys. Usually I like to respond to your comments individually, but on this topic I don’t have many more words. So I will just listen and appreciate you all. Thank-you.
i’m so sorry for that ache deep inside. and for the fact that there’s an ocean between you and so many loved ones on days like today.
It is amazing how the ordinary moments (sewing for your child) intersect with those that are anything but. I am so sorry that you lost your mom before you became one yourself. Blessings to you as you remember and honor her and fulfill her hope for your life, your faith and your place under the shadow of God’s wings.
Lisa-Jo, thank you! For this glimpse into who your mom was. An amazing woman, no doubt. Just like you are. Wish I could have known her.
Much love to you.
Beautiful. A perfect tribute.
love you so much lisa-jo. xoxo
This is beautifully written (as I’ve come to expect from you), and wow, what a legacy you have as an Is. 65 girl.
Can’t type through the tears.
My mother lost her mother at 29 when I was 1 year old. I am losing my mother now when I am the ripe age of 53.
I pray that she becomes a believer in the One Who loves her, loved you, loved your mother, loves your children.
His circle never ends.
Oh I am aching for you, reading this. And yes, you are so right – He is the *only* thing that can close the gaps of missed moments, memories, celebrations. He is near when she is not. And I can say with truthfulness that He has ministered to me gentler than a mother throughout my own womanhood and transition into motherthood. I pray that you will feel Him close to you and your mom as you walk this difficult road together.
I weep.
No.
She did not labor in vain.
Beautiful.
Her and you.
Oh, Lisa-Jo. Such pain. Such beauty.
I have tears in my eyes, friend.
wow. What heavy memories to carry, so many “what if’s?”
Beautiful. Touching. I am moved to tears.
*love*.
Lisa-Jo, I’ve been putting off reading this post, because I could tell it would be sad. And sure enough, I’m sitting here with tears in my eyes. I’m so sorry you lost your mother at such a young age.
Beautiful tribute….
Tears and gratitude.
Thank you!
This is a beautiful tribute to your mother. She sounds like she was such a wonderful woman.
((HUGS))
Happy Birthday to her.
In between changing diapers and wiping bums I thought I’d take a quick peek to see what you’ve been up to lately. I’m so glad I did. What a reminder of how precious every moment is! You never know which moments will burry themselves deep inside a child’s mind….things they’ll remember of you someday when you’re gone. I hope I leave mine with millions of wonderful memories to choose from. I miss you, my friend.
What a moving tribute. I could see it all so clearly, and now my eyes flow.
Blessings to you!
As usual, there are no words to adequately describe my response, but I wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you.
My first time your place (due to Alece’s post) and here I sit with tears down my cheeks….
beautifully written….
Beautiful…no other words for it…
And the verse says it all.
Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much. Somehow the sharing makes the experience make more sense. The fact that I can look back and see what God taught me through it and where he brought us from it. It’s sometimes the hardest roads that have the most interesting destinations.
I lost my mom at the age of 22. She, too, was a lovely, Godly woman who set me on the right course.
There just aren’t words. I’m glad to have found this post, even though it brings back the tears.
Tears were burning my eyes and cooling my cheeks as the nurse came in just now to take the baby’s temperature.
I hope your mother does see you, surrounded by your boys and waiting for your daughter. I’m sure she does.
I’m off to spend some time with Is 65. Thank you.