The Long Reach of a Mother's Love

                              The Long Reach of a Mother’s Love

                                                         

                                      By April Smith Hajjafar

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Cleo sat down at her kitchen table. Her apron was wet from doin’ the dishes, The curls in her silvered hair were dampened with perspiration. It was hot and she was tired. She got back up, got herself a cool glass of water and went into the living room where the breeze from the fan could offer a little respite from the heat.

She glanced around the room and looked at the things that she had collected over the years. Lots of folks may have called them junk, but Cleo knew they were treasures. There on the wall was a drawing given to her by her grandson years ago. Some might see childish scribbles and a very tiny house leaning very precariously, but Cleo’s eyes saw that drawing with her heart. The little outhouse was beautiful, straight and perfect in every way.

She glanced at a small piece of stone and picked it up. She held it up to the sunlight streamin’ through the window and moved it back and forth seein’ the glint of crystals scattered throughout the stone. Some might have seen a worthless rock that belonged outside. Cleo saw the gift that her own son had years and years ago found durin’ his outside adventures. She saw what he had excitedly run up onto the porch to present proudly to his Momma. She saw that sparklin’ diamond and remembered the joy that had sparkled in her son’s eyes upon the presentation of his gift.

Her eyes continued around the room until they lingered upon an old album peekin’ from beneath the telephone book, magazines, and the newspaper. She held the edge of the album and slid it from the bottom of the stack. Success! She only had to pick up a section of the newspaper from the floor.

Cleo looked at the front of the rather large awkward sized album. The front and back of the album were cardboard covered in a smooth brown paper that resembled leather. The front and back of the album sandwiched long sheets of black construction type paper. She lifted the cover of that album. The pages were rather fragile now; the edges were tattered and faded from where sunlight had faded the exposed edges. That fragile paper held precious memories on it. Those memories came in the form of photographs; photographs of times and folks long passed.

Here was a picture of her own precious Mommy and Daddy; Mommy in her long dress that seemed to cover her from top to bottom. Cleo tried to remember if she had ever even seen her Mommy’s legs and she couldn’t remember ever seein’ them. Daddy was in his dark pants and white starched lookin’ shirt. Cleo didn’t see the stern lookin’ couple that gazed up from the page. She saw the Mommy who had helped her up from the dust-covered ground when she had fallen. She felt the touch of the work-worn, yet soft hand that had reached up to her cheek to wipe a tear. She heard the soft voice that murmured words of comfort. She saw the Daddy that had come in from the field drenched in sweat and had sat at the table to eat the dinner her Mommy had prepared. She heard his strong voice offerin’ up thanks to God for this wonderful food and the hands that had prepared it. She remembered the couple who had walked together up to the big tree behind the house. She saw them as they knelt on the ground in front of that tree and bowed their heads in prayer. The photo showed a rather stern lookin’ couple, but Cleo’s eyes were flooded by the memories of her heart.

She saw photos of siblings she had lost over the years. Memories of her childhood with her brothers and sisters flooded her mind, and love flooded her heart. She remembered a time of childish games and happy times when those brothers and sisters were ever-present. They had each had chores to do and they could never slack. Those chores were not optional, but there had been time for laughing, giggling and silliness also.

She saw pictures of her husband who had died many years ago. Cleo thought back on those times when she and Neil had been young and raising their young family. She remembered all of the joys they had known…and the sorrows; especially that sorrow of losin’ Neil to cancer.

She had not known what she was gonna do back then. She had had five children still at home. But Cleo had a huge heart and a huge faith in God. They bolstered her strength and determination until they were just insurmountable! She not only raised her children in a fine, fine way, but she served as a glue that held a family composed of myriad extended family members together. She did all of that with love in her heart and a beamin’ smile on her face.

She saw a photograph of a young Cleo. Why that photo was taken so long, long ago! She remembered the days of her youth and she smiled. She did not feel much changed from that young woman in the photograph. It always kind of surprised her when she looked in the mirror and her older face peered back. She knew that she had changed over the years, mentally, spiritually and physically, but somehow her inner self still felt much as that young girl who looked up from that picture. That Cleo is how she felt inside. That Cleo was free of the frailties of the body. That Cleo loved and longed and dreamed just as Cleo did this very day! Cleo decided that she was gonna have copies made of that picture and put them in frames for each of her children. She wanted them to see her as she saw herself.

So Cleo carefully removed the photograph from the corners that held it in the album. She found a small flat paper bag and placed the photo carefully inside. She put that bag aside so that she would know just where it was when she was ready to retrieve it. Cleo had a plan.

The next chance she got, she had one of her children take her to the store. She ordered six copies of the photograph at the photo counter. Then she found the right aisle and looked at the picture frames. She chose six frames of the proper size and purchased them. She took them home and cleaned the glass, getting them ready for the pictures they would hold.

Finally, after waiting a seemin’ eternity, Cleo had her photographs. She took them into her bedroom where the frames were. She placed one picture in its frame and put the back on it. She turned it around to see how it looked and she was happy that it looked so nice. But she had put the back on wrong and the little easel stand was in the wrong place. She took the back off again and was putting it on correctly when she came up with an idea. It was an idea that had her grinnin’ like a goose.

She laid the frame back on her bed and she went over to her nightstand where she found a pad of notepaper. She carried it into the kitchen and she sat at the table. She would have a few hours without any interruptions. Her kids were at work and grandkids were in school. She sat there at that table and she wrote. Occasionally, while writin’, a tear would slip down her cheek and she would grab a tissue and dab it dry, but always a smile graced her lips. When she had finished, she felt quite content. She folded the sheets into six little packets rememberin’ which was which.

Cleo returned to her bedroom with the papers. After she had placed the photos in their frames, before she put the backs into the frames, she placed a small packet of paper. She noted which frame had received which packet.

Later, I am not certain what the occasion would be, perhaps Christmas, but later each of Cleo’s six children would receive one of those photographs of their mother. I am sure that each of her children enjoyed receiving that framed photo of their beautiful Mommy. That photograph hung on walls, sat on mantles or stood on tables over the years.

Now, that might seem to be the end of this story. Cleo’s six children each received a treasured photo of their beautiful Mother, but those beautiful, framed photographs held buried treasures that those six children were totally unaware of. They would remain unaware of that hidden treasure for years. They would remain unaware for more than six years after Cleo’s death.

You see, in the spring of 2016, the picture frame that Cleo had given to her daughter Brenda, fell and the glass was broken. Brenda picked up the frame and cleaned up the glass. She noticed the notepaper that had been hidden in the back of that frame behind the photo for all of those years. Curious, she unfolded it and when she did she saw handwriting that she knew. She saw the handwriting of her Mommy. She saw that it was a letter written to her. In that letter, her dear mother told her of how she loved her and the many ways that Brenda had been special and a blessing to her.

Now, I was not there, but I imagine that tears flowed freely down Brenda’s cheeks. I imagine that Brenda felt the love of her Mommy in a way that she had not felt for years. I imagine that she sat quietly cryin’ for a few moments before excitedly grabbing the phone to call sisters and brothers! And sure enough, each of those frames held a hidden treasure. Cleo’s love would reach beyond the grave, beyond the gates of Heaven itself to make itself known in one more visible way.

You know, I can’t help but think that perhaps that Brenda’s picture frame may have had a celestial hand help it fall to that floor! I also can’t help but think that that celestial hand may have been connected to a celestial body with a celestial face that beamed a huge Cleo grin when Brenda FINALLY found that hidden treasure.