Kiss Your Miracle

Meeting up with my mom and sisters was definitely the highlight of my weekend. They stopped in Ocala for dinner on their way down to Sanibel Island for a week of sunshine with my aunt, uncle and cousins. They plan to stay at our house for a few days on their way home, but I was excited to see them now too, even though it was just for a quick hour at Panera.

I especially wanted to see my mom. Last Friday she took a horrible fall off her bike after her dog, Jack, got spooked by a squirrel and ran top speed into her front wheel (you can read the full story on her blog, Getting Through This). Though she managed to escape major damage, half of her face and her left eye are now an unnatural combination of red and purple. She’d told me over the phone she didn’t feel that bad, but I didn’t believe her since she rarely complains about anything.

When Sky first saw my mom yesterday she studied her carefully and then solemnly said, “Midgee owie,” several times before chattering away as usual. But I felt like crying. Why did this have to happen to my mom? Hasn’t she dealt with enough recently? My dad’s death was less than five months ago. It seems to me that my family doesn’t need another reminder that life is fragile.

But later that night when I said those very words to Adam, he responded, “You know, as hard as it is, I only benefit from being reminded of how fragile we are.” And as I thought about it, I realized he’s right. I would never welcome pain into my life or the lives of the people I love. But when I’m forced to acknowledge just how delicate we really are, it’s more difficult for me to take others for granted. I’m less casual with my words, more motivated to serve, and more willing to pay attention and listen carefully. Like Adam said, I benefit every time I’m reminded to be less self-centered.

I just wish I’d been reminded differently and that my mom didn’t have to suffer such an awful fall.