Dust pans and brooms

Working, running, scheduling, supporting, listening, reminding, advocating, caring for, cleaning, traveling, nursing……

It’s rained four days straight, and I am restless and fighting bronchitis. Moving forward like nobody’s business with a smile and lots of love.

I guess God knew I needed some connections to nature. After a doctor’s appointment, with all my meds in hand, I see trash cans at the end of the driveway that needs rolling back to the designated place. Everything has its place. And there she was, my little turtle in her place.

Tucked into the dirt and daring to move. I go into the kitchen and get her some tomatoes. She loves them.

I head back to work with a smile. After hours of reading, answering emails, and creating, I had to stretch my legs and check on those I love. I notice the flood on the patio and realize I must act now. Cleaning the “gutters” to allow water to flow so it does not find its way under the house. At that moment, and only for about 10 minutes, the sun comes out. I laugh and gently hit the screen door with my hands over my head with an exclamation of gratitude. My mom laughs at me. I run out there in bare feet and start cleaning and shoveling. My mind has a picture of me as a little girl playing in the rain and making mud pies. My mom yells from the side door, “Will this help?” I giggle. “No, Mom, that’s too big.” She is holding up a dust pan. She comes out 5 minutes later with a broom and sweeps water in the drainpipe towards the vent while I throw mud and debris out of the pipe. I’m getting dirtier by the minute, and she is splashing up mud water on my face and clothes.

The muddy water on my feet and the cool breeze race through my veins. “Thank you, mom. We are strong women.” I change my voice to sound like a farmer’s wife and yell, “Well, we saved the farm Pa!” She laughs aloud, too. It was at that moment I realized all the things my mom taught me. How to be strong, move forward, figure it out, and it’ll all work out. Play in the rain. Chase the sun’s rays, and pause. At 92 years old, she wants to come alongside me and help figure things out. I pray I always walk alongside those I love and bring dust pans and brooms.

I reminisced over a meal the next day and told the story again as we enjoyed the patio without the water. My husband remarks on how strong we are, and I cheer us on. It’s in our aging we notice and reflect. It’s easy on the soul and bears weight on the heart’s song. I can sing because I’m happy while feeling the ever longing for something. Something I can’t describe this side of heaven.