Today I wandered around Wal-Mart for way too long. I needed to get a tire patched on our car, and my wife needed to get some things for the kids to make Christmas decorations. We could get everything taken care of at the same time at Wal-Mart, so we stopped in. The line was a little longer than we anticipated for the tire repair, but we decided to go for it anyway. This left us walking around the store with our two youngest kids for a much longer time than we wanted to.
On our final lap around the store I noticed an older lady slowing her cart down and looking at me. At first I thought she was going to ask for directions, but then I noticed something familiar in her face. As I walked toward her she smiled and said, “You’re one of the kid’s, aren’t you?” I knew instantly what she was talking about. Her name was Pat Taylor. She and my mother were good friends when I was a little boy. My parents made regular trips to the Taylor’s house to play board games when I was about six or seven years old. Those trips were always so much fun.
Seeing Mrs. Taylor around Christmas was especially poignant because of my mother’s love for the holidays. She loved Christmas, and each year she made the entire season special. Along with writing and directing the annual Christmas play at our small rural church, one thing that my mother made a Christmas tradition was the baking of pumpkin bread. Each year at Christmastime she would load me, my brother and my sister into the car along with a dozen loaves of pumpkin bread that she baked in saved up coffee cans. She would deliver a loaf of pumpkin bread wrapped in red and green ribbons and tin foil to all of our close family friends. The Taylor’s were on that list for years.
Today when I saw Mrs. Taylor I introduced my wife and my two little ones. She placed her hand on my hand and choked back tears as she said, “I always think about your family at Christmas.” Out of respect, she didn’t immediately mention my mother by name, but I knew what she was talking about. Since my mother passed away almost seven years ago she has left a huge hole in many families around North Texas. Much more than her annual Christmas gift, my mother brought to many people her enthusiasm for life and her cheerful disposition. When I was growing up I would watch people light up when she entered a room. There was a feeling of excitement when she was around. Quite simply, people loved my mother and people miss my mother.
I guess I write all of this to say that I love my mother and I miss my mother. Merry Christmas, Mom.