I don’t cry, like ever. It has to be a pretty bad situation for me to have a big fat tear roll into my sobbing mouth. But today it happened.
I was dusting the living room mantle. If you have a mantle, you know what I am about to describe. All of the most cherished items are perched on that central place of honour. It becomes a sort of a shrine where special pieces which need to be dusted are kept.
Our mantle is covered in significant tchotchkes of art, gifts and memories. Seasonally, the mantle is decorated with garland, candles, lights, spooky things and bunnies depending on the holiday. Birthday cards crowd every inch of space as we celebrate everybody’s special day through the year. It always seems somehow bare when we take the festive looking cards down and put them in our memory boxes. The messages in them are expressions of love and caring, and they warm the room. Even though looking through them again makes me smile, time moves on, so in the box they go.
The items on the mantle that awaited me today have been there for a while. They have become a routine element of the decor, hardly noticeable you might say. But today I looked at them, really saw them, and I was shattered.
On the far end of the mantle were two small gifts from my children. They gave them to me for some occasion, I don’t even recall what they were for, but I suddenly realized how deeply their meaning had settled in my heart.
Two little things really, a candle and a simple little flower pot with a tulip made of wood. It was like I suddenly noticed them for the first time. Although much appreciation was heaped on my children when I received their presents, the deeper aspect I saw today was how profoundly these loving gifts touched me.
The candle was beautiful, truly, but what mattered more is that my daughter bought it with her first paycheque when she was 14. And the little flower pot and tulip was made by my 11 year old son. He struggles in school and is a deep feeling sensitive child, so when I noticed his tentative lettering written on the flower, it broke my heart when I read the word “Mommy”.
Suddenly in a wave of unstoppable emotion I broke down… hard. The sheer aching beauty of these gifts from my children nearly burst my heart with such force, I couldn’t contain it. It gripped me fiercely and I could hardly breathe with the strength of feeling the full force of love and sadness intermingled . I sat down and wept with the confused duality of emotions of a Mother who has a terminal illness. The deep and ferocious love for my children is mixed with tragic sadness, and today it burst over the levy and overwhelmed me.
Over time I managed to staunch the flood of tears as I ran my finger over the flower on the candle, and the wood grain on the little tulip. These two gifts seemed to hold all of my love, fears and ache and touching them comforted me.
As I put them back on the mantle, drying my tears I struggled to move on to other tasks. My babies were with me in my heart, but I yearned to hold them close, and thank them for their beautiful gifts. The real gift they gave me was a seemingly endless capacity for deep enduring love.