It was only a few weeks until Mother's Day, that morning we left our house forever. I hurriedly gathered enough things to last a few weeks, knowing soon the divorce court would decide about the rest.
I carried a broken hand and a broken heart, but not a broken spirit.
We--my not-quite-3-year-old daughter Donya and I--clung closely to each other throughout the coldness of that day. Strangely, my fear seemed comforted and my resolve tweaked by watching my little one plodding along, dragging her doll, Shannon. With the innocence and trust of a child, she asked, "Where are we going, Mommy? Why is Daddy so mad ... Look, there is a dog!"
Tears welled up in my eyes. I prayed, "Where are we going, Lord? I'll have to tell you, and her, I don't know. Please show us the way."
And God did. Or someone did.
Friends took us in, and miraculous things happened quickly to find the two of us a safe, affordable home.
So that Mother's Day I felt not alone, but perfectly content to just spend the day with my beautiful little one, knowing no extra funds were available for non-essentials. Way too early, though, 6 a.m., here she came, my Donya, with a surprisingly different idea.
Sporting soft pink footie pajamas, still dragging Shannon in one hand, I noticed her gripping the tiniest of childlike packages wrapped and decorated in coloring book paper, held over the seams, where the tape should have been, by her chubby little baby fingers.
Quite frankly, to this day, I am not real certain where, when and how my toddler obtained that gift, but I'll never forget her smile and the look in her eyes, as I accepted it--a huge, colorful tin flower costume ring, containing nice sharp protrusions to tickle my interest and snag my pantyhose. Most conveniently, there also appeared an adjustment in back to help it fit any-sized finger. Wow!
"Happy Day, Mommy," she beamed with all the childlike presence of now, with a little hope for the future sprinkled in too.
"Oh, honey, I just love it!" I replied. "But you're the best gift of all."
Many years have passed since that Mother's Day so long ago. I guess I am fortunate to have had such a plethora of artful, earthly things.
But I'll let you in on one tiny secret: Every Mother's Day since, I choose just a few quiet moments alone when I place that big tin flower on my not-so-young-anymore finger. There I smile, because like a rainbow, once again, it's a reminder that I have not passed through this world without having been loved by a mother's most precious gift of all.
Happy Mother's Day!
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Cheryl D. Dees lives in Little Rock.
Editorial on 05/11/2019