Mother's Day...

Who is Mrs. C? And why am I writing about her today, of all days? Dear reader, you may recall that I had written about Mrs. C before. She and I first met on the old highway. We were both alone, and found ourselves on the same path. We shared stories of our journey with each other.

Mrs. C, though in her sixties, worked three jobs, and sent all her earnings to her family in her country of origin. She picked apples in a commercial orchard. She cleaned houses. And she worked in a restaurant, back of house, cleaning ovens, scrubbing floors, washing dishes, prepping food, clearing tables. Seven days a week she worked to pay for her husband's health care, and for the education of her two daughters. Mrs. C also paid an attendant to care for her two elderly parents. Mrs. C slept on a couch, in a small corner of an apartment. She ate scraps from the restaurant. At each of her jobs, she was paid less than minimum wage, no health benefits, no worker's compensation, no security. Mrs. C had lived and worked this way for ten years. She never complained about her sacrifice. "My family depends on my efforts." She confided in me. "I am the only one who can be here to work, to help."

I looked into her brown eyes and told her she was a saint. "A saint! No, not me. Don't even say such things! I am not holy." Mrs. C cried as she spoke. She often cried, as she sat next to me on the bench. "A saint is not some mythical creature with wings and a halo!" I exclaimed. "A saint is a real live human being, who perspires, bleeds, and feels physical hunger and thirst! A saint is someone who makes supreme sacrifices for others, enduring patiently, never counting the cost. You, Mrs. C are a true saint!" I was vehement.

With deep, gut-wrenching sobs, she cried. We walked together for ten years. But, in the end, I had to remind Mrs. C that life was not all about suffering. "God loves you! He wants you to be happy. What good is all this money you are sending your family if you arrive home in a box! In all this world, there is only one you. And, your family needs you more than they will ever need little pieces of green paper." Mrs. C looked down, "Money is necessary in this world." She said the words sadly, softly.

I told her how in my childhood, my family had been so poor we were only able to afford one or two plantains to share among six people. "It is better to eat boiled plantains in an atmosphere of love, than to eat meat in misery!" I pressed the point. "Mrs. C, I love you and I will miss you more than you will ever know. You have been my only family here in the wilderness. You see good in me even when no one else does. If you leave, I may be all alone. But, I would rather be alone than see you constantly in pain. Yes! I see the pain in your eyes. I hear the loneliness in your voice. It is time for you to go back home to your family who loves you. You, who are so loving to others, deserve to be showered by your family's affection. Please, Mrs. C, I am begging you, leave this place, leave this life of suffering, and go back home to your loving family."

"But, what will we do for money?" She asked. "I have faith that the God who has watched over you all these years, will continue to provide for you no matter the circumstances or location." I answered. With raised eyebrows, she said, "But, you are asking me to make a great leap of faith. It is quite a risk."

Arm in arm, we sat there on the bench. "Yes, it is a risk. But, your human life is worth more than any money you could earn here. Your human life has value! God wants you to be happy, of this I have faith. God doesn't want you suffering like a mule. The sacrifice that you have made for your family is admirable, but now maybe it is your turn to be cared for by your family." I spoke these words, and prayed.

Mrs. C bought her bus ticket. She remains with me in these letters that I write.

Mrs. C is a mother. What is a mother? A mother, I have learned, is a special kind of human being. A mother is someone who will sacrifice all for the good of her family. A mother is someone who loves, and loves, and keeps on loving.

A mother, all mothers, are deserving of our love and gratitude. Thank you all for raising us, and helping us grow strong. Happy Mother's Day!