Read It Again, Please!

MAMA

It was rainy and cold that evening. It was November 1, and the leaves had fallen from the trees. The colors of red, green and yellow blanketed my lawn, although a few leaves had managed to hang on to their lifeline of the giant oak trees scattered around the front of my home. There were no squirrels running busily about, nor birds flying from limb to limb. There were no cars passing by, nor lightning flashing, or thunder rolling. It was quiet, as if the world had decided to give a few moments of silence for the occasion. The silent drops of rain that fell from the sky seemed to gently touch my window, making the ambiance perfect. Amazing how God created the scenery, and lack of background noises on that day, to match the sadness that was overshadowing me inside.

A mother should never have to endure the pain that I was feeling. I had cried so much, my eyes hurt. My eyes were swollen and red, and my voice had no spirit. My heart was broken, into what seemed like a million pieces. I wondered when the pain would end.

I knew that it wouldn't last forever. I was a Christian. I grew up in the Church. Went every Sunday, faithfully, come rain or shine. I sang in the choir, served on the Mission Board, and attended weekly services. I knew scriptures, so I knew that God would never put more on me, than I could bear. I knew that weeping would only endure for the night, and that joy would surely come in the morning. But my question was, “When, God, is the morning going to come?”

Martin was sitting at the dining room table. He had a letter in his hand and was looking at me, waiting for me to give him permission to continue. I was hesitant, yet I knew that I needed to hear, as well as understand, what the letter said.

“I'm sorry Martin. Read it again, please. From the beginning.”

Martin looked at me with an impatient look. “Mama, maybe we should do this later. Maybe, this isn't the right time. You have had a long day, and so have I. I'm sure this can wait.”

“No, Martin. It can't wait. This whole week has been one big blur. I can barely remember what the Preacher talked about yesterday during the funeral. I don't remember what the choir sang, and I don't know half the people who were there. I don't even think I ate yesterday. I haven't had an appetite.”

Martin got up from the table, and walked over to the chair I was sitting in that looked out the window onto the front porch of my home. He kneeled down next to me, and gently placed his hand on top of mine.

“Mama, I know you are having a hard time dealing with this, so am I. But what did daddy always say? That this too shall pass. Everything will be okay Mama. I promise. It's still fresh. We will get through this, together.”

I patted his hand softly. He was my youngest, and the most responsible. As I looked at him, I saw a few grey strands of hair popping up in the top of his head. He looked so much like his father; acted like him, too.

“Alright, Son. Go ahead.” He reached up to wipe away a fallen tear from my face with his finger. “I'm ready. I guess. Read it again, please.”

“Yes Ma`am.”

He walked back over to the dining room table, and picked up the letter that he had been trying to finish for the past thirty minutes. He looked at me then took a drink from his coffee mug. As he put his reading glasses on and sat back down in his chair, he began to read aloud.

“Dear Mom,

I don't quite know where to start. I know that I haven't always been the best son. I have had some good days, and some not so good days. I want you to know, though, that I have always appreciated you, even when I didn't show you.

After Daddy died, you did your best to raise Martin and me. You made sure we didn't miss out on anything, and that we had the best of everything. You loved us, and prayed for us, made us go to church, even though we didn't listen to what the preacher was saying half the time, and supported us in everything we did. You attended all my football and basketball games, and I could hear you over everybody else in the crowd, no matter where I was, cheering for me, Laramie. That always gave me the extra push I needed to be the best.

When I went away to college, I had big dreams. I remember that daddy said for me to let my talent pay for my education. When I graduated, and became a coach, I knew you were more proud of me than I was of myself.

For the past few years everything has been perfect. I have had a perfect life, a perfect job, drove a perfect car, had a perfect apartment, and a beautiful, perfect girlfriend. Every aspect has been perfect!

Then, a few months ago, reality knocked on my door Mama.