The “List”

 

Momma’s Remember

“Rand is there too.”

She said it so casually it stunned me a little.

Like he was in the next room, at a friend’s or in a his room with his long teenage legs drapped over the side of his bed talking to that girl with the freckles he liked so much.

But, no. 

Rand was not in any of those places. 

He never would be. 

His tiny body was in the family cemetery his Momma was now referring to now.  He had barely gotten here from Heaven when SIDS stole him and he returned. 

A beautiful baby boy. 

His Momma remembered.  His smell, his eyes, his sound when sleeping, her hopes, her dreams, the way he felt inside her, the joy when he was given to her. …. Momma’s remember … and in some way … their children live on with them and in them  … even when they don't.  Decades after he’s gone her heart still has him in the center of her thoughts.

Momma’s remember.

*****

She leaned over the casket. 

Her back was to me. 

Her upper body seemed to move rhythmically as when you weep but, she wasn’t weeping … she was breathing … deep breaths.  Her eyes … her heart … her body … “breathed deeply” of what she was seeing.

What she needed to see.

She needed to absorb, with every fiber of her being these last few minutes. 

The last moments she would ever see her child’s face in this life.

Still.

Quiet.

Breathless.

Bruised.

Broken.

Her daughter’s tiny body could no longer sustain the hurt and pain. 

It was now empty of the brightness and beauty it  had held, in this life.

Momma’s remember. 

Momma’s need to remember.  Every line, every crease, every hair, every breath.

Every hurt.

Every destroyed dream.

Momma’s remember like no one else can or can comprehend.

 

He charged at her.

“You’re a f***ing c**t!”, “You’re a f***ing c**t!”, “You’re a f***ing c**t!”,

He was nose to nose with her.

Then he locked his arms around her.

His unprovoked attack was as odd as it was astonishing.

Unable to breathe from the sheer shock, she feel to the ground to break his grasp and rolled away.

Somehow she had ended up on the other side of the room. 

She couldn’t remember how.

Confusion, hurt … fear … was all she could feel as she called the police.

It would be years before she saw him again.

Mental illness and addiction so twisted his mind he insisted she deserved to be treated that way.

Her broken heart still bleeds.

But that’s not what his Momma remembers.

Her bedroom wall is covered with pictures.  His 5 year old grin covered in caramel apple hugging his brother; His awkward, toothy, ten year old smile;  his first Christmas in a green velvet suit; his first Prom, so handsome and proud;  his Eagle Scout Awards Banquet. 

Momma remembers. 

The little boy who would say, “I want Jesus in my heart.”; The 13 year old “chatter box” who gave her back rubs while she worked at her desk;  The teenager who helped take care of his bedridden grandmother;  The young man so full of promise declaring, “I want to be a Pastor.”

Her heart still reels and grieves from the pain of the attack daily … but … that’s not how she remembers her son. 

Because, well … she’s his Momma. 

Momma’s remember differently. 

*****

Momma’s remember because Momma’s can’t forget.

It’s not that Dad’s are less.  It’s not that Dad’s love less.  It’s just different. 

When a child is placed in the earth by God, He places them IN their body.  In the hidden space so perfectly designed to protect them while they grow and get ready for this world. 

Momma’s know … before anyone else … of their existence. 

Momma’s feel their first movements. 

Momma’s cradle them in the stillness of night as they wiggle and stretch in the secret place. 

Momma’s feel every excruciating, exhausting, exhilarating moment that brings them from their body into Life. 

Their bodies literally ache to feed and care for them.

 

Mommas remember ….

Momma’s remember …..

forever.