Laughter Through Tears...

I know that the stores are considering it “long gone” and are breaking out the grill kits and cheesy greeting cards to prompt all consumers to purchase something for their “Dear old Dads” for Father’s Day, but I want to talk about Mother’s Day.  Rather, my Mother’s Day 2011.

Mother’s Day has always been complicated for me. To be brief, my own mother was a living combination of “Mommy Dearest” with “Mother Gothel” from “Tangled.”  So, the concept of giving my mom a card, some flowers, accompanied by praise and adoration just never came easy to me (or any of my 8 siblings).

 

There are two people I could always celebrate.  One is my oldest sister who I refer to as “The Saint.” That title has been earned.  She did everything for me when I was a child from giving me medicine to buying me my first bike.  She managed to love me during my adolescence despite the mood swings and awkward changes I was going through.  She gave me my first car, watched me date, and when I needed a mother most… she didn’t abandon the 17 year old girl pregnant with twins.  She didn’t call me names, or tell me what a disappointment I was, and never yelled.  She helped me to graduate, encouraged me to continue with dual enrollment through a local community college, and was there when two little munchkins were born September 15, 2004.

I’m fairly sure that my Grandmother, “Wise One,” is who taught The Saint everything she knows.  She is the second person I celebrate on Mother’s Day.  She sewed countless amounts of clothing for me, including some killer dress up costumes.  She really meant that her house was my house. When I was there I was climbing trees, rolling down grassy hills, collecting buttons, and learning the value of a good creaky porch swing. Nearing her 80’s she still managed to pick me up from school and take me to work when I didn’t have a car, (and continued to drive until she started chemotherapy).  She babysat my girls while I went to school, and taught them how to “play pretty.”

 

To encompass what The Saint and Wise One mean to me I will say this: my children made me a mother, but these two women made me a better mother.  I only hope I can give this same gift to my children. 

The night before Mother’s Day 2011 I was sobbing on my couch because I knew that it was going to be a hard day.  Death had been an all too familiar face in the past few months which had robbed me of a new mothering journey, and caused me to bid farewell to my beloved Wise One.

Mother’s Day 2011 I was sick as a dog, but my kids and husband took such good care of me.  I was showered with homemade gifts, an anthology of Third Day albums (my most favorite band of all time), and lots of “I love you Moms” and “Thank you” seemed to be set on repeat.  Even the sadness and illness were not going to ruin the day.

I could finish this post up right now, give you a little scripture, and maybe brighten your day.  But I can’t do that.  Writing this has been taxing.  I have stopped and cried, and then sobbed. And I would guess that reading this could be taxing. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I can’t let you cry without making you laugh.  So here’s the rest of Mother’s Day 2011…

By the late afternoon I was feeling a little better but my husband “The Engineer,” was exhausted from being both mommy and daddy.  I knew we needed milk for cereal the next morning, so I got into “regular clothes” and made the journey to Harris Teeter. 

Upon entering the store I noticed that all of the balloons, cards, and flowers were completely ransacked. Two little puny, pathetic floral arrangements wrapped in plastic were all that remained (and to be honest they looked like leftovers from whatever fell off the truck).  I saw two men rush towards the arrangements: one “Young Buck” a 20 something guy, and the other a haggard looking 50+ year old.

 Young Buck dashed in front and grabbed the better of the 2 arrangements which sported two roses, a carnation, greenery, and baby’s breath. Mr. Haggard was left with the 2 carnations, a single tiny rose bud, and baby’s breath. At that moment I felt sorry for the older guy because upon picking up the flowers, he shrugged and breathed a sigh of relief all at once.  I knew exactly what he felt like:  disappointed with the results, but glad to have something in hand.

In the express lane I was surprised to see Mr. Haggard was behind me. Young Buck was long gone, and I could tell Mr. Haggard was in a hurry.  I checked out as fast as I could. As soon as I got to the door Mr. H was right behind me.  We both stopped to let the cars pass before heading to our respective vehicles.  It was here that Mr. Haggard made his fatal flaw.

Standing there while the cars went by, I checked to make sure I got a gallon of Organic whole milk and not the “regular” milk.  I was relieved to see that I got it right. When I looked up I saw Mr. Haggard pull the floral arrangement wrapped in plastic towards his face and begin to light a cigarette. The plastic was soon ignited and the flowers were on fire.  I watched him frantically throw them to the ground and stomp on this arrangement.

 

Now… if you’re not laughing check your pulse… you might be dead.

Despite my distain for cigarettes I knew I needed to help this poor guy.  I picked up some of the leaves and a sprig of baby’s breath here or there along with the remaining carnation.  I tried to aid him in “arranging” this mass of awful. When he asked me “Does this look okay” I muttered out “Well… it’s really the thought that counts.” He thanked for my help but said he had to throw those “*EXPLICATIVE* flowers away.”  After explaining that he’d “been everywhere looking for flowers” he headed back into the store.  He decided to buy some fruit instead.

My encounter with Mr. Haggard was the 2^nd brightest spot in my Mother’s Day 2011. First of all, who couldn’t see this scenario as hilarious?  I mean, I didn’t laugh in the guy’s face, but once I got to the sanctuary of my minivan I let out the most uncontrollable burst of laughter.  I believe this is exactly what I needed.  And I think God knew that too.

Secondly, I have to admit the last few months I have felt like all my dreams were dying. As silly as it may sound this trip to the grocery store resuscitated my hope.  The back to back hardships my family and I have had to endure have posed enormous challenges.  But we are weathering them all together.

Mr. Haggard taught me a valuable lesson: don’t let your plans die just because of circumstances, do your best to change them.  When your flowers burn up… buy fruit.  So… with all that I’ve shared this post I don’t think I need to explain my scripture choice.  I think that this passage is loud and clear and needs no further inference:

O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR VICTORY? O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR STING?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord.

1 Corinthians 15:55-58

Here’s to Father’s Day!