The small bungalow was constructed close to the edge of the lake. Lines of lush marigolds, pansies, tiny rose bushes and a scattering of geraniums were on the lawn. I walked up to the entrance door, which was flush with a concrete walk. No steps to deal with. The walk had more of the flowers, this time in large ceramic pots.
I knocked on the door and a soft and distant voice told me to walk in. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. As I turned to put my case down, I noticed the clock on the wall right over the small table. It was circular, with a white face and clock hands that were made in the shape of boat paddles. This clock was just about 12 inches in circumference, and its outer rim was peppered with seashells.
I have to tell you, my friends, I found this clock to be anything but beautiful. Though I have always loved the ocean, I have never been fond of seashells.
The lady entered the room, asking me if I was there to assess her vision loss. I held out my hand and she stepped forward, asking me if she could give me a hug. I told her I would love a hug.
We sat down at the table. Once we were finished going over her eye report, we talked about my recommendations and she welcomed the suggestion that members of my team would also pay her a visit and try some adaptive equipment and perhaps some training.
“I am expecting my son and his family to visit this weekend. They live in South Dakota. He is going to be here for Mother’s Day,” she said. “I haven’t seen him for nearly two years. He travels often for his job, you know. And he made me this absolutely stunning clock with seashells he found over the years.”
She turned toward the clock, her eyes filled with awe.
“It took him years to gather these shells from all over the world,” she said.
I nodded at the lovely lady, unsure of what to say.
“The clock is amazing,” I said.
She smiled at me and reached for my hand.
“Belinda, you can be honest with me about the clock. I know it is not appealing to everyone but my boy is now in his 40s, and when he brings me something, all I see is that little boy beaming at me as he hands me a treasure. I wonder if all mothers are that way?”
I have no children, and I can only imagine how strong that love is. My own mother loved me and my sister with everything she had and we loved her in return. I am sure over the course of time, I have handed her a gift or two that she may have found a bit over the top or not her style. But because it came from one of her children, it was priceless in her eyes.
I paused as I suddenly recalled the rooster sugar dish and creamer I had presented her with years ago. It looked so cute in the catalog, so I bought two sets, one for her and one for me. I gave my set away, but Mom sat those two roosters on her dining room table for years. When the roosters disappeared, I looked in her china cabinet and there they were, almost in plain view.
We said farewell with another hug and I just had to take one more look at that clock.
“Do you know where the clock usually hangs?” she asked. “In the spare bedroom. When I know he and his family are coming, I have someone help me hang it right here so he can see that I treasure it dearly. Do you think that is wrong of me?”
I could not help but chuckle and I shared my rooster story with her. She laughed when I finished and assured me that she felt much better. I told her I would be in touch and I drove away, memories of my own mother’s love dancing in my heart.
My friends, have a great Mother’s Day.
Belinda Wilcox Hersey lives in Caribou with her husband, Kent. You may email her at belindahersy@gmail.com.
