I see you, just a few years ago it seems, in a store that sold baby things.

You lingered the longest in the crib section, looking at this mattress and that.  You distressed yourself wondering if the mattress actually would be comfortable enough. 

And then it was the bumper pads you looked at next; you wanted pretty ones, but you wanted really soft ones too.

Later, we moved to what I thought was cheaply put together tinsel, and I complained within myself that maybe not all of this was necessary, that we could come back after the baby was born.

I see you that one evening in the local café. 

You were tired beyond description when I stepped in from my day’s work, and I suggested we should eat out to give you a break. 

You said yes instantly; you forgot to worry about our finances that evening.

I see you as your little one got hungry just when our food arrived and, I couldn’t help but notice that your food got cold and was uneaten while I leaned into my food.  When your baby was finished eating, I saw you eat your cold meal, and later as we left, I saw you grab a few more tidbits from my plate as you stacked everything neatly for the server to pick up later.

I see you in just a couple more years it seems, as your little family pitter pattered around the house and in the yard.  I see you stop your work to look at a picture your son drew for you.  I see you go outside to marvel at a rock collection. 

I see you, with tears brimming in your eyes, as you take one of your little ones to the back room to be disciplined.  You were always so kind to them when you disciplined them, and you never shouted at them or called them out in public.  Rather, you led them gently away to a quiet spot where you could speak to them without distraction.

I see you, laughing in a concerned sort of way, when your daughter showed up at the back door with her mouth chock full of dogfood.  You knew the only place she could have found it was in the dogs dish.  Later, when you used your finger to dig all of it out, you fished out a half chewed up bone, and I was so thankful you stopped what you were doing to help her.  Because what if that bone had gotten lodged in her throat? 

I see you, late one afternoon, tired and a little pushed out of shape because you had to start your washing machine again, for the second time that day, to run a load of muddy little boy jeans through. 

I see you, eyes brimming with tears again, as you walk your firstborn to his first day of school.  I thought it a little excessive when you stayed quite a while, in the empty school auditorium, after he had disappeared into his classroom.

In another three years, I see you take your youngest child into that same school for her first day of school.  Was she wearing a yellow dress?  I almost think so.  She always looked good in yellow.  And her two braids were so very neatly done.  I knew her hair wouldn’t come down by first recess like it always did when I tried to comb it when you couldn’t.  And you stayed there a little longer, after she had disappeared into her classroom, just like you did with your firstborn.

I see you, face torn with terror, as we raced towards school to fetch your second born from a skating accident.  I see you as you hold him and his bleeding face while we drive to the clinic to get him stitched up.  I see you, a few months later, walk with him to the back when that same son required extensive dental work to fix ongoing issues from that accident.  And again, some years later, when the panic of those first dental visits was too much to bear, you walked to the back again with him, even though he was easily old enough to go back there himself.  But somehow you knew he needed you back there, so you went there.

I see you, cheering your children on as they cross each milestone and finally graduate from school.  They each did well in school, and I am convinced that they did so because they knew you were completely supportive of them.

I see you, late at night, when I was too tired and had gone to bed, waiting up for your children to come home.  I knew a friendly, interested face would meet them when they walked into the house, even though they may have slipped past curfew a few minutes.  Because you saw their heart, and you knew their intent was to do right.

I see you, taking those same pains as you always did with your boys and their clothes, on their wedding morning.  (Because you knew half the time they forgot how to dress properly).  But I think more than their clothes, you wanted to touch them, and I know they wanted you to touch them on that most important day of their lives.

I see you, as your daughter leaves home to teach school in a place so far away.  I see you do your best to hide your sadness and loneliness as she leaves.  And you do quite well at hiding it, until we got in the car at the airport parking lot, and then I saw the quiet tears as they coursed down your face.

I see you, as you wait up late into the night, waiting for the phone call that you think will happen yet, from your daughter so far away.

I see you, in each meal you have ever made, and in the clean, tidy house you have kept for all of us.

I see you, as your face lights with joy when your nieces come over after church.  Each of their little ones is a grandchild to you, and I see how quiet and secure they become when you hold them in your arms, or read them a story.

I see you, as a mother, in pretty much every moment of the life we have shared together.