{ Maybe it was just instinct. }
Dear MacKenzie,
Mother’s Day began at 12:01 a.m. yesterday. I was lying in my bed when it began, just thinking about you lying in your bed a hundred miles away. I finally fell asleep after deciding that there was nothing I could do to make the day’s pain any less for you. I decided not to even acknowledge the day, for fear I’d somehow make it worse. There may be almost 20 years between us, but we’ve both learned the same hard lesson: there are some roles no substitute will ever be able to fill.
When I woke up a few hours later, you were the first thing on my mind. I thought about how, in just a couple of hours, your dad would come and wake you up and get you dressed and feed you breakfast and do all the other things he alone is responsible for in your life each and every day. I picked up the cell phone lying beside my pillow and, without even getting out of bed, called your dad and asked him my five favorite words:
“Could I have her today?”
I picked you up a few hours later, strapping you into your booster seat and telling you what a pretty dress you had on. And then, with no real defined plan for our day, I set out to figure out how a girl who has never had a daughter of her own should spend Mother’s Day with a girl who can’t remember what her mama looks like.
I took you to the playground and pushed down the seesaw, holding it down with one hand while I snapped a photo of you with the other. I don’t know what made me take that picture. Maybe it was just instinct.
I took you to feed the fish and, when you laid down and reached your arms into the cold water to “feed” the fish, I grabbed hold of your ankles to make sure you didn’t fall in. Maybe it was just instinct.
When we passed by the camping tent on display, I let you drag me into it and, upon your demand, laid down on my back and proceeded to pretend like I was asleep. And then, when you weren’t expecting it, I took a picture of you sitting on top of my knees, your hands pulled up to your face in surprise. Maybe it was just instinct.
You asked me to let you take pictures of me with my camera and I hesitated at first, worried you might drop it on the ground. But then I realized that I want you to know what it’s like to look through a camera lens and see some moment you want to capture forever. Maybe it was just instinct.
I drove you to the widow’s home, teaching you on the way what the word “widow” means. When we got there I pulled a bucket of flowers out and explained that they were for you to give to the women who may not have seen a little girl in a very long time. Maybe it was just instinct.
I watched you select flowers one at a time and knock on doors, a new braveness in you I haven’t seen before. Maybe it was just instinct.
I watched you carry the flowers around, stopping if even one petal fell off, trying in vain to reattach it to the flower it belonged to. Maybe it was just instinct.
When we came to a room where the resident was gone, you insisted that we leave extra flowers at that door, telling me that “she deserves fwowers, too.” Maybe it was just instinct.
When we finished, I watched as you took the last of the flowers — the ones you could have kept for yourself — and chose to leave them on the piano in the lobby instead. Maybe it was just instinct.
As we left, I watched you carry your empty bucket back to the car, everything spilt out for women who called you their angel baby when you walked into their rooms holding pink roses and lilies. Maybe it was just instinct.
When we were driving home, I thought you had fallen asleep until I heard your voice from the backseat –
“Can I pretend to call your cell phone?”
I told you that I’d love to receive a call from you and you pulled out the toy cell phone I bought you at the candy store earlier and “dialed” my number. When I heard you make a little ringing noise, I picked up my phone and began our conversation –
“Is this MacKenze? Oh my! I have SO been hoping you’d call me today! Did you have a good Sunday?”
You told me about feeding fish and playing on the seesaw and taking flowers to the widows. And then, in your little girl voice, you about broke my heart –
“And my mama bought me a pretend cell phone!”
Neither one of us said anything in that moment, you not wanting to acknowledge you had just accidentally called me your mama and me not wanting to acknowledge the tears streaming down my cheeks. And then I said the only thing I knew to say to you on a day meant to acknowledge something you don’t even have –
“She must love you very, very much.”
Maybe it was just instinct.
Love,
amy beth
AB, your beauty radiates from the life you live. Your authenticity just makes is all the more sweet. What a precious day.
The time and love you are giving that child is changing her life forever. The fork in the road that her life took whenever & however her mother left the scene is being redirected toward a grace that will save her heart.
We are the body of Christ.
Oh AB… Mama’s aren’t made by birth or adoption. Mama’s are made when a woman opens up her heart to a child and loves her (or him) wildly, lavishly and unconditionally.
Even if it’s only once in a while, it’s perfectly ok to be that precious angel baby’s mama for a day. Family is family, no matter how you come by it.
Oh, Amy Beth, I was (am) crying. This is my favorite part of being single…the extra time I have to love on little girls.
the way you have with words….
The way you are influencing this young lady to grow to be a woman of God!
What a special day that must have been for BOTH of you!
Beautiful and sweet beyond words.
I am crying. Here you are, two girls in the same boat, and making the most of your day while I was in a crabby mood and had my son and my mother with me.
The things that we take for granted…
To have a mama for just a day here and there, is better than no mama at all. You filled a place for her and eased the pain.
So beautiful. I don’t even know “the story” and it brought tears to my eyes.
So, so beautiful. She’s blessed to have you in her life.
Oh Amy Beth! Probably not a good idea for me to read your blog first thing in the morning. The tears have started!
Absolutely beautiful and I love you for having such a beautiful heart! xox
I’m glad to know I’m not the only one tearing up
You and your big heart are so freaking gorgeous. What a beautiful day you planned!!
I love the photo she took of you.
oh my goodness. just beautiful!!!!
… i don’t even know what else to say.
XOXOXOXO
Oh my, tears in my eyes! You are such a beautiful, thoughtful person. I would hope that someone would do that for my daughters if I wasn’t here for them.
I’m waving my cell phone for you girly.
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She is just a blessed little girl. You can tell by that last picture.
I can’t come up with any words to adequately describe how beautiful I think this is.
You should really have a disclaimer before posts like this. You know…something like: Before reading, please make sure you have a box or 3 of tissues!
Wow, Amy Beth! What a beautiful post. You are going to be a wonderful mommy one day with all of the practice you are getting in! What a blessed girl little Miss Mackenzie is!
That sound would be my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
I’ve said it before, but may God return to you the blessing you pour out on this sweet girl.
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Beautiful..
Giving love never goes to waste. Particularly giving love to such a young heart, by doing so you are making such a large impact.
oh so sentimental,
but seriously,
It’s not going unseen, or unfelt.
Precious…so many words you could say, but that sums it up. That post made me cry especially the part about her calling you ‘mama’. Wow that would have me reduced to a bucket of tears, so that was a great reply for her.
Thanks for making such a different in the life of a little girl. You truly are a giver.
Blessings.
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