I never met my grandmothers. My paternal grandmother died in the 1940s. My maternal grandmother died a few months before I was born.
When I was a child my family had a blanket that my maternal grandmother gave to my mother because she knew that one day my mother, he youngest child would have a child of her own. As an infant my mother would cover me with the blanket when I napped or went to sleep at night. It was a sign not only of my mother’s love, but my grandmother’s love as well. While my grandmother never met me, she loved me.
My mother’s last days were spent in a hospital. On the night that she died she removed her DNR ( do not resuscitate order) which surprised me. Puzzled, I asked her “Why?” After all, she had had a long hard fight filled with medical complications, was tired, and her mind was muddled with diabetes brought on by high doses of prednisone. With her eyes half closed and a soft matter of fact voice she said that she wanted to meet her grandson who would be born six months later. She died, though, in the early morning hours of that night. I never cried for her then. She never met her great-grandson, at least not in this earthly life. But the morning my grandson was born I cried for her. Unwittingly she walked down the same life path as her mother. And like her mother, she loved him, though they never met.
The epistle or letter of First John tells us that we love God because God first loved us. The 139th Psalm reminds us that God knew us before we were born, saw us being put together in our mother’s womb, and saw us being made in the depths of the earth. Such love is too wonderful for us to imagine. It is like a mother’s love.
On this Mother’s Day May each and everyone of you who are reading this blog post be blessed with many happy memories and thankful of your own mother.