Mother

I can hear the cries of my mother through the door. She is sobbing not softy, like you do when you are sad, but roughly and savagely, like a baby in pain. I listen for a few moments, completely transfixed until I can bear it no longer. My feet press against the carpet on the stairs lightly. I don't want to disturb anything. I make her eggs the way she likes them; scrambled with paprika and salt and a splash of vinegar. I don't knock when I come up the stairs, just barge right in, and for one second, I see her completely vulnerable. She is facing the window and looking out at the ocean, the blue reflecting somewhat on her. Her back is bare and smooth, and she has bunched up the sheets around her body in her hands. Glorious light is streaming in on her tear-stained face, and her eyes are sparkling with water and pain. She has no makeup on, completely bare, and she looks extremely wise. The small amount of wrinkles she has on her face are the folds of knowledge and knowing. She looks beautiful, angelic, like the face of holiness, like an angel sent down from above. Then she turns her head and something changes. She smiles at me and I smile back. "Happy Mother's Day," I say, and hold out the tray for her to take. She grabs it with shaking hands and stares at the eggs for the longest time. She finally looks up, chin quivering, and whispers an "I love you" so pure and sincere, I feel myself begin to cry in astonishment. Her voice is different; elegant, rather than rough. She pulls me to her chest and cradles and rocks me as I listen to her soft heartbeat, steady as the murmur of the current just outside the window. As I'm basking in the sunlight and holding my mother so tightly, I feel like God is showing me something. And, after a few minutes of thinking, I realize what it is He is presenting: love.