A Mother’s Day Card

The first time James was old enough to make his own Mother’s Day card, I was thrilled to see what he had decided to write (with his kindergarten teacher’s help) as I slipped the card from its envelope.

Instead of finding the sweet, simple sentiments you’d expect to see from a five year old, like “Thank you for taking me to the beach" or "I love when we play at the park together,” I was met with the words, “I like going with Mommy to the hospital.”

For a fleeting instant, that card made me really sad. However, as soon as the sad thought landed, a brighter one overwhelmed it.  The simple words on that card belied a deeper meaning, a revelation that James was developing into a little boy who recognized his life and his Mommy looked a little different from those of his friends.  He did go with me to the hospital. This is the type of character-creation I never could have dreamed I would give him.

One day, after I am long gone and in Heaven, he can tell his grandchildren about how his “mom’s brain got hurt” and how she had lots of surgeries and doctor's appointments to make it better.

In a world obsessed with protection, safety, cleanliness and the avoidance of hardship, I could never have imbued these gifts of compassion—of suffering with—to James were it not for my stroke.

The many cards he brought home over the years were a glimpse into his little mind.  We prayed—and still pray—that he will be a man who appreciates the differences in others and feels empathy for the people suffering all around him.  We pray for the perspective of knowing what a true problem in life actually looks like.  We pray for a kindness and figurative practiced bedside manner that he can bring into every situation.  Maybe that card was a small indication that he is heading in that direction. And that’s better than any other Mother’s Day gift I can dream up.