Have you seen this yet?
I love Colbert’s unmasked emotion and unashamed love for his mama.
I love the memories he carries with him, from childhood up through the present day, and the profound, recognizable influence his mother had over his life.
And as often happens with death, whether it’s a death near or far away from our hearts, it too makes me wonder the legacy I too am leaving behind.
Mondays are normally my writing days, the one day a week in which we hire a sitter and I go hole up in the back room, and then make my way to a local coffee shop or lunch spot or to the library. With Cancan in the trusted hands of Miss Juvy, I’m free to write and think and process, uninterrupted from his constant demands.
Because it’s important for Mama to have a break.
So today I dreamed of driving across town to sunshine, for all the little San Francisco microclimates boast varying reports of sunshine and fog, of hot and cold. I’d rewrite my Prodigal piece, and finish working on my Real Simple essay, crossing my fingers to please-please-please win the $3000 grand prize, and actually get paid to publish something.
(Patience, Little One, patience).
But then Miss Juvy texted that she was sick, and instead of a merciful, Oh, bless her heart response, as came forth from the HBH (no, really…)*, my heart sank that I’d now be resigned to instead write while Baby slept, and have to spend the day entertaining my 11-month old son.
Ugh. That is certainly not the legacy I want to leave.
Instead, I want my children and my husband and my family and my friends to say something like this, like Colbert said of his mama:
“But her love for her family and her faith in God somehow gave her the strength not only to go on but to love life without bitterness and to instill within all of us a gratitude for every day we have together.”
So as soon as Cancan wakes up from his nap, I’m rewriting the day. I’ll shut my laptop, because there will be time to write later – for there’s always time to write later – and then we’ll head to the park. We’ll swing on the baby swing for about 4.5 minutes, because that’s about all he can handle right now, and then he’ll plop down in the middle of the sand box, shoving fistfuls of grainy sand into his mouth, while staring in awe-like wonder at the big kids.
And I’ll look over at the mama next to me, and simultaneously we’ll shrug our shoulders together:
Oh, children, she’ll shrug.
Protein, right? I’ll shrug in reply, crossing my fingers that, indeed, what doesn’t kill him only makes him stronger.
And then I’ll look at my son – my brilliant, beautiful, handsome Little Man – and I’ll smile. I’ll look to the sky above and nod a giant God-directed THANK YOU, grateful and without bitterness at the gift of today.
Have your own expectations gotten in the way of the gift that’s right in front of you? What did you think of Colbert’s tribute?
* = the HBH really is that kind and loving and merciful. Where my mercy at?!0