Sunday Morning’s and Mother’s Day

I look a lot like my Mom. I didn’t realize how much until one Sunday afternoon I was going through some old photographs and found a picture of my parents. My first reaction was: “How did I get in this photo with daddy?” The resemblance between my mother and I was astounding. I literally sat there dumbfounded!

This will be the third Mother’s Day I have celebrated without my mom. She got sick and died three years ago during a trip to Ohio to celebrate her mother’s birthday. In fact, she died at 6:00 a.m. on grandma’s birthday. Mommy was grandma’s only child.

It may sound strange, but I was blessed to be with my mother when she died. I held her hand as she took her final breath and assured her that everything was alright. Of course, in my spirit, I could sense that she was assuring me that my life was going to be okay without her because I believe she knew she was going to a better place.

Mommy was very calm during her death, much like she was during her life — or at least the 48 years that I shared space with her on the planet. I often think about how she loved to be around family and how she would spare no expense for family gatherings. It was mommy who set the example for my siblings and I to always treat people with respect.

She also had that sixth sense that most Mother’s have with their children – you know, the eyes in the back of the head, the bionic hearing and the laser eyesight. I’ll never forget 34 years ago on a Sunday morning, she came into  my bedroom and asked if I was pregnant. I was  17 years old and about to enter my senior year in high school. I sat there on the bed and wondered how she knew. It had been eating me up inside but I had been afraid to tell her. I finally broke down in tears and that’s when mommy put her arms around me and assured me that everything would be alright. She was right. My world did not end contrary to what I thought at the time.

But there’s something about Sunday mornings, Mother’s and knowing that everything is going to be alright. After all, it was a Sunday morning when I told my mother that I was about to become a mother and having her declare that my life wasn’t over. And it was a Sunday morning many years later when I sat in a hospital room holding my mother’s hand as she was dying, telling her that everything will be alright, while sensing in my spirit that she was telling me once again, “Cathy, it’s going to be alright?”

I cherish Sunday morning’s and Mom’s peaceful disposition yesterday and today.