- Feb 7, 2002
- 6,912
- 15
- 71
- Faith
- Catholic
- Marital Status
- Married
Mother
Mother
It was a deathwatch; the woman they all had loved so dearly, and who had loved everyone with no prejudice or inhibition was nearing the end of her time on this world. She lay on a pallet, her upper torso propped to ease her breathing. The normal glow of her face had been replaced with a gray pallor, and her pain stretched across the bones of her cheeks like a second skin.
She had no living family. Her husband had died many, many years before, and she had recently lost her only child to a brutal execution at the hands of the government. He had been a brilliant teacher, revered by many and hated by even more. His death had been a drain on her spirit. She had spent her life giving and giving and giving to others, and now her reserves were gone. The heart that had been bigger than life was exhausted.
Dawn was still hours away, and the friends who waited dozed with the fatigue of the waning night. Two strangers appeared at the door and entered silently. They gently roused the watchers and dismissed them to their own homes. "We're cousins of her late husband. We just heard about her illness, and we will care for her now. Go to your families, and know she is with ones who love her." Stupid with sleep, the friends asked no questions and crept into the night thinking of warm familiar beds.
The strangers stood as sentries on opposite sides of the door, and a Presence crossed the threshhold to crouch at the woman's side. He was a man garbed in white, and he lowered the hood of his cloak to reveal a countenance bathed in radiance. His eyes caressed the frail human body before him. Her callused feet bespoke of walks: to the well, to the merchant, to the temple, all the places of a normal life. She had walked the additional mile, too. To a sick neighbor's house, in the middle of the night; across the floor again and again, with a colicky baby so a young mother could rest; to search the countryside for a lost child; to a cemetery to help a friend bury a loved one. He picked up a patched, mended sandal next to the wall and rubbed his thumb over the depressions where her feet had molded the leather. She would never wear this shoe again. He saw her hands, and they appeared to belong to a stranger because they were motionless. These hands were forever moving: darning fabric, wringing out laundry, scrubbing, kneading bread, tending a garden. They also wiped away many a tear, rubbed the shoulder of a grieving spouse, cradled the infant of a terrified new mother, anointed medication to a sick body, and prepared the dead for the final journey. The skin was cracked, chapped and roughened from work. The nails were broken, stained, and uneven. They were the most beautiful hands he had ever beheld.
Kneeling closer, he cupped her face in his scarred palms, and kissed her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled with recognition. "Yessie." It was a toddler nickname used only by her. "Oh, Yessie, I was just dreaming about you."
"Eema. It's time to go, now. I'm taking you to Paradise." He rocked back on his heels, and grasped her hands in his.
"Oh, Yessie, I can't. I still have so much to do, people need me." How so like her! She was gasping for the breath to talk, and yet she wanted to get up and help others. "Besides, I don't think I want to go to Paradise. I need to keep busy, Yessie!"
This brought a smile to the man's face. "Oh, Eema!! Father and I know that! Let me tell you about Paradise!"
She settled back on her cushions and relaxed a bit, for the announcement that she was leaving had made her somewhat anxious. Yessie was a glorious storyteller, and she loved the sound of his voice. "Please, Yessie, I'd like to hear."
"Eema, no house will be too far. You will journey in the blink of an eye to those who need you. Your arms will stretch to hold everyone who desires your consolation, and your shoulders will be soft and comforting to any who cry their tears to you." He watched her mouth form a silent "Oh!" in response to his announcement. "You will have a lap that is made for children; toddlers will clamber up to sit with you, and babies will snuggle against your breast. Your eyes will see only the good in everyone."
She interrupted his dialogue. "My eyes do already, Yessie."
He bent over and kissed them. "You are right, Eema. You shall keep these very same eyes in Paradise." She smiled, and he continued, "This tired, earthly heart will be replaced with one big enough to hold all of humanity: all of the hopes, the fears, the dreams, the troubles, the aches, the disappointments, the burdens. Oh, Eema, your work has just begun! You are to be the Mother of mankind!"
She sighed then. "Take me to Paradise, then, Yessie. I have so much to do!"
She seemed incredibly tiny when he swept her up in his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder, and the final breath left her body. He carried her to the doorway, and the sentinels joined him as he walked into the dawning sun.
(copyright 1997, 2002 Victoria Odle Weaver
Please ask permission before copying)
Mother
It was a deathwatch; the woman they all had loved so dearly, and who had loved everyone with no prejudice or inhibition was nearing the end of her time on this world. She lay on a pallet, her upper torso propped to ease her breathing. The normal glow of her face had been replaced with a gray pallor, and her pain stretched across the bones of her cheeks like a second skin.
She had no living family. Her husband had died many, many years before, and she had recently lost her only child to a brutal execution at the hands of the government. He had been a brilliant teacher, revered by many and hated by even more. His death had been a drain on her spirit. She had spent her life giving and giving and giving to others, and now her reserves were gone. The heart that had been bigger than life was exhausted.
Dawn was still hours away, and the friends who waited dozed with the fatigue of the waning night. Two strangers appeared at the door and entered silently. They gently roused the watchers and dismissed them to their own homes. "We're cousins of her late husband. We just heard about her illness, and we will care for her now. Go to your families, and know she is with ones who love her." Stupid with sleep, the friends asked no questions and crept into the night thinking of warm familiar beds.
The strangers stood as sentries on opposite sides of the door, and a Presence crossed the threshhold to crouch at the woman's side. He was a man garbed in white, and he lowered the hood of his cloak to reveal a countenance bathed in radiance. His eyes caressed the frail human body before him. Her callused feet bespoke of walks: to the well, to the merchant, to the temple, all the places of a normal life. She had walked the additional mile, too. To a sick neighbor's house, in the middle of the night; across the floor again and again, with a colicky baby so a young mother could rest; to search the countryside for a lost child; to a cemetery to help a friend bury a loved one. He picked up a patched, mended sandal next to the wall and rubbed his thumb over the depressions where her feet had molded the leather. She would never wear this shoe again. He saw her hands, and they appeared to belong to a stranger because they were motionless. These hands were forever moving: darning fabric, wringing out laundry, scrubbing, kneading bread, tending a garden. They also wiped away many a tear, rubbed the shoulder of a grieving spouse, cradled the infant of a terrified new mother, anointed medication to a sick body, and prepared the dead for the final journey. The skin was cracked, chapped and roughened from work. The nails were broken, stained, and uneven. They were the most beautiful hands he had ever beheld.
Kneeling closer, he cupped her face in his scarred palms, and kissed her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled with recognition. "Yessie." It was a toddler nickname used only by her. "Oh, Yessie, I was just dreaming about you."
"Eema. It's time to go, now. I'm taking you to Paradise." He rocked back on his heels, and grasped her hands in his.
"Oh, Yessie, I can't. I still have so much to do, people need me." How so like her! She was gasping for the breath to talk, and yet she wanted to get up and help others. "Besides, I don't think I want to go to Paradise. I need to keep busy, Yessie!"
This brought a smile to the man's face. "Oh, Eema!! Father and I know that! Let me tell you about Paradise!"
She settled back on her cushions and relaxed a bit, for the announcement that she was leaving had made her somewhat anxious. Yessie was a glorious storyteller, and she loved the sound of his voice. "Please, Yessie, I'd like to hear."
"Eema, no house will be too far. You will journey in the blink of an eye to those who need you. Your arms will stretch to hold everyone who desires your consolation, and your shoulders will be soft and comforting to any who cry their tears to you." He watched her mouth form a silent "Oh!" in response to his announcement. "You will have a lap that is made for children; toddlers will clamber up to sit with you, and babies will snuggle against your breast. Your eyes will see only the good in everyone."
She interrupted his dialogue. "My eyes do already, Yessie."
He bent over and kissed them. "You are right, Eema. You shall keep these very same eyes in Paradise." She smiled, and he continued, "This tired, earthly heart will be replaced with one big enough to hold all of humanity: all of the hopes, the fears, the dreams, the troubles, the aches, the disappointments, the burdens. Oh, Eema, your work has just begun! You are to be the Mother of mankind!"
She sighed then. "Take me to Paradise, then, Yessie. I have so much to do!"
She seemed incredibly tiny when he swept her up in his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder, and the final breath left her body. He carried her to the doorway, and the sentinels joined him as he walked into the dawning sun.
(copyright 1997, 2002 Victoria Odle Weaver
Please ask permission before copying)