Tonight while we were decorating the Christmas tree, or rather, preparing to decorate the Christmas tree, which, with three littles, took about 3 hours, Gram was remembering aloud how her father always insisted on decorating their tree himself growing up. It was his gift to the family. I asked about her mother, hoping to spark more memories (Gram has started losing more and more long term memories now, a new stage for us), and she smiled, shook her, and sort of shrugged as she said, “well I don’t know, she was just there.” She paused for a long time and continued, “and that made everything better.”
Gram doesn’t remember much about her mother anymore, and that is a heartbreaking thing. But as I pondered her words while I laid next to Charlotte as she fell asleep this evening, I was struck by the importance of presence. Because while she may not remember the birthdays or Christmases, the vacations or holidays, Gram remembers the fact that her mother was present. She knows what it feels like to be safe in that presence, the feeling that a mother can make everything better, just by being there.
And that gives me hope. Someone once told me (and I honestly cannot for the life of me remember if it was in person or in a book! sorry if it was you!), that moms are blessed with quantity time while dads often get the most quality time. And in the middle of that quantity time, it’s easy for me to forget that it matters just as much. I can be envious of the fact that my husband gets to play “boom-boom” (their word for rough-housing) and take everyone out for ice cream sometimes when he gets home, that each time he’s home is a mini-holiday for the kids. I can forget that in the middle of chores and laundry and dishes and bath time and dinnertime and bedtime and the rush of even the least-scheduled day, my being there makes a world of difference to my children.
Pope St. John Paul II wrote in Familiaris Consortio that, “Only by praying together with their children can a father and mother penetrate the innermost depths of their children’s hearts and leave an impression that the future events in their lives will not be able to efface.” This evening while thinking of Gram and her mother, these words ran through my head, and I was struck again by the truth in them. I see it lived out in my grandmother. She is 96 years old, her body is frail, her memory fading, and yet, she maintains the impression of her mother’s presence and the fact that it made everything better. I know from my grandmother’s words pre-dementia, that my great-grandmother was a faithful woman, and I do not doubt from the many stories I have been told of Gram’s life growing up, that her parents prayed with her. I do not doubt that the reason that the impression of that love is so strong with her is because it was rooted in a deep love of the Lord.
Tonight, it’s a reminder to me to be present, fully and totally present, even in the middle of chaos, even when there’s still plenty more to be done, even when I’m exhausted and don’t want to get up again to put a sleepy boy back to bed with one last cuddle (he’s already been out of his bed twice . . . ).