The Most Beautiful Woman I Know…

Her hair, once dark and flowing over her shoulders, has lightened, as soft wisps of gray have become more prominent. And there are a few more lines in her face than there used to be. Lines near the corners of her crystaline blue eyes…eyes that once sparked with the wild optimism of youth…dimmer now, as the tragedies of life tried to consume her. Lines around her lips…the lips that have parted so many times, bringing forth words of wisdom and love, encouragement and support. Across the kitchen table, you can see (though she tries to hide it) that her hands occasionally tremble; the same hands that have held me, so many times, in my most desperate hours.

It’s funny to imagine her as a youth. I never knew her that way. But I see pictures–gray and white, old and cracked–and they show me a girl who was much like me…or maybe I was much like her. From time to time, you can still catch a glimpse of that girl she was. She shows up in moments of laughter…moments that usually occur when we’re alone. She’s beautiful still, but she doesn’t know it. She never did. Perhaps that is part of her charm.

I wonder what it was like to know her as a youth. I wonder about her giggles, shared with sisters in the night. I wonder about her dreams…her fears. I know she never imagined it would all turn out the way it has, but I have a feeling, she’s pleased with the blessings she has been given along the way. In spite of the losses, the turbulent times–with tear-stained pillows and hands wrenched in despair–she somehow knows it all worked together for a greater purpose…a purpose we will never understand this side of Heaven. I believe she was entrusted with such sacrifice, because God knew He had given her the strength to overcome it. I believe it will all make sense one day, but, for now, she continues on the path that has been set before her, and she is a living testimony to the fact that life will go on and joy can still be found.

I look at her some days and my eyes well with tears of pride, and I sense a tinge of fear for the day that she’ll no longer be here with me. But I quickly banish that last thought from my mind, refusing to give it place so that I can fully enjoy every moment with her. Blessed. Honored to be part of her. She’s forgotten much of who she was. She created a pseudo-self to protect her tender heart, but I know what lies under that facade. I see it…her true heart is so big, it can’t be hidden completely. Humble to her core, she doesn’t recognize the pillar of strength that she represents. She knows not the power of her approval…the depth of her kindness…the value of her friendship.

I looked at her when I was a child and I felt I could never quite measure up. I see the way she looks at me now, and I know I never had to. I didn’t have to earn her love. I never had to be more than I was or less of whom I wish I wasn’t. Her heart for me has remained unchanged by anything I’ve ever done. It would be impossible to be loved by anyone any more. Her love is pure and unending. It gives me wings. It lets me know, if no one else in the world approved of me, she would still be my biggest fan – and I hers.

I am blessed with the most amazing mother, with whom I can share my life, and I’m just so grateful for her. I love you, momma. You are the light in my eyes. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, but, most of all, thank you for being who you are. There is none so lovely as you.