Always There {To My Mom on Mother's Day 2012}

Beautiful now ...
And beautiful then ...
And beautiful as a child ...

It’s on days like Mother’s Day that I just so desperately wish I lived near my mother. We have the kind of relationship/friendship where we would spend all sorts of time with each other. 

We truly would. 

We’d pop in for a visit every few days, back and forth to each others’ homes. {Who are we kidding, it’d probably be daily.}

“We’re here for supper, whatcha servin’?” is what I’d say as I showed up on her doorstep at 5:30pm on a semi-regular basis. And she’d probably not slap me. 

We’d run out for a Diet Coke at McDonald’s because, ummm, why wouldn’t we? 

We’d most definitely bargain hunt together and hit garage sales all summer long. We’d do puzzles together, of course over a Diet Coke on ice. 

We’d be on the lookout for fun new adventures because, well, we’re fun like that. Both of us. 

We’d try new recipes together. 

We’d maybe get around to writing that joint book together, like we’ve always talked of doing.

We’d sit in the living room together, on separate computers, me blogging and she playing Majong or some other computer game. 

We’d sit on her deck and visit, enjoying the warm breeze on a summer’s night. {And clearly we wouldn’t be living in Canada if that were the case.} 

We’d go for long walks together. Often. 

We’d pray together regularly. And it would be delightful. 

BUT we don’t live near each other, and quite honestly, that stinks. Sometimes I feel pretty sad about that. Sometimes you just need your mom in the same town. {Sometimes, who am I kidding. All the time would be wonderful.} 

 So, after I spend just a wee bit of time wallowing about my mom not living near me and the fact that she lives in another country, I make the choice to grab a hold of all the memories we have made over the years and I have to smile.

She was the one I slowly turned and looked at as I sat at the grand piano in that grand hall at Algoma University, and I couldn’t remember a note to play for my big recital piece. Not one single note. Talk about drawing a complete blank. {She tells that story much better than I and I’m leaving out a lot of details on purpose.} 

She took me out on the highway for my first drive at 16. {Again, she tells that story much better than I.} 

My favorite summer-time thing to do in Chicago is to go to Ravinia, and mom was able to go with me numerous times in the 90s. 

She {and dad} were at every sporting event I ever ran in, dribbled in, spiked in, hit in.  She can scream with the best of them.

She came to Indonesia and saw my world. She was attacked by a monkey in Bali, the monkey stole her glasses {I wish I was lying but I’m not} and she was left for blind until the kind grounds keeper hopped the stone wall and coaxed the monkey to give the glasses back. {I tell that story better than she.}


She was there when I decided to give my life to Christ and she was/is instrumental in my faith journey, even today. 

She lived out her faith in front of me, daily, in an authentic way which made her “Jesus” very appealing to me. {I shudder to think of not having her influence on my spiritual journey.} 

And when I was baptized. 

And when I was dropped off for college.

She {and my girlfriends} was the first to see me in my wedding dress.

She was there with both kids were born. {And there’s a story there but we’ll save that for another post.} 

You get the idea. 

She has always been there, even though since I was 18 we’ve been separated by countries and oceans. Every major event in my life and a whole lot of minor nothings that add up to who I am today. 

Mom, I really can’t imagine my life without you so fully present, no matter the miles between us.

You have proven that you can be a faithful, loving, involved mother even if living down the street isn’t an option. 

You have always been there for me. Always. And for that, I am eternally grateful. 

 Loving you forever, Alysa

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