A mother's arms are made of
tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.
- Victor Hugo
When I was a little girl I would rise early in the
morning, far earlier than my mother desired.
Longing for another hour or two of sleep, she would place me into bed
with her. There my mom would gently
caress my face. With her soft fingers
she would tenderly stroke along my brow, down my nose, around my lips and up my cheeks to my brow and begin the cycle again. Oh, what pure joy! How quiet I would be as I delighted in my
mothers loving touch. Soon I would be
sleeping, cuddled safely in the arms of my mamma.
On November 1, 1996 my 59-year-old mother was
diagnosed with 4th stage metastatic lung cancer. The cancer had metastasized to her bones,
affecting her left hip and right shoulder.
Because it was in her shoulder joint she had a great deal of
discomfort. One thing that relieved the
pain was when I massaged her head and face.
Over and over again I would gently caress her face in the same way she
nurtured me as child; and like me, she would relax and fall asleep.
When
my mother was dying, I sat at her bedside and lifted her limp hand to my
face. I moved her soft fingers around my
face tracing the old familiar path. It was the last time I felt my mother’s soft warm touch upon my skin.
Her
touch left an indelible imprint upon my life.
Musical Inspiration: Her favorite song
"As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you; and you will be comforted ..." - Isaiah 66:13
