Two men from the church came to visit Mom, one a teenager and one recently retired. In addition to the box of Crumbl cookies, they brought their love and interest and supportive smiles.  And Mom gave them each her big bouncy full-bodied hugs, and they laughed, even as I cringed.  I had set holding chairs out for them, in front of Mom and her recliner, and I listened from the kitchen, wanting Mom to have their full attention.  Stewart and Brendan had come just a few days before Dad passed away, and here they came again to minister to Mom with words of comfort and love (and with cookies).  The subject of death has been tender and frequently on our minds.  Mom asked about Stewart’s son who died, long ago, of meningitis at age 10, and Stewart was coming to the crux of the terrible story, about how even in death he had felt profound love and peace and a divine Presence.  As Stewart stopped for a breath, Mom looked at Brendan and asked him about his favorite subject in school.  The sudden change of subject, at such a dramatic and touching moment, left me feeling jarred.  What mental mechanism of Mom’s caused that? I wondered.  I know she loves and cares about people.  I wondered if she even heard the story, or felt the emotion in it, or if she just couldn’t focus on one subject or story line for long, no matter how poignant.  Steward took the jolt in stride, understanding and not judging, loving her notwithstanding.  Still, as I escorted the men out through the front door, I made a point of thanking Stewart for sharing his story, and of standing with him for a moment in his resurgent pain.

(Photo from Pinterest, used under Fair Use.)