You know who you are.
Or maybe you don’t…
You’re the one who complimented me on my children’s behavior on the day I felt like a failure as a mother.
You’re the one who called at dinner time nearly nightly to get the debrief of the day.
You’re the one who laughed with me about men and marriage and sex on the days I wanted to cry and wallow in self-pity.
You’re the one who bought the flowers Keith would have bought for our anniversary.
You’re the one who thought to include us in your holiday gathering rather than let us be alone.
You’re the one who called from miles away to tell me you were holding me and the Lord was holding me.
You’re the one who saw to it my grass was mowed when I was overwhelmed with the kids and would have let it grow over the top of the house.
You’re the one who brought over a check on Christmas Day to cover expenses you had no idea I worried about.
You’re the one who watched my kids so I could have dinner with a friend without the constant clamor of “Hey, Mom, guess what…”
You’re the one who cleaned my bathroom on your hands and knees just as it was beginning to resemble one in a gas station.
You’re the one who prayed for me while you were getting ready for church Sunday mornings, figuring I was facing some challenges (I was).
You’re the one who checked in on me while I was driving long distances, and insisted I call when I got there.
You’re the one who cried with me at the cemetery on Memorial Day, and brought flowers for Keith’s grave.
You’re the one who took me for my first pedicure on Mother’s Day and sat laughing with me.
You’re the one who shared out of your bounty for the holidays to make sure I had something to open, too.
You’re the one who still called me with your prayer needs, realizing that I needed to take the focus off me and do things for God.
You’re the one who pulled up a tissue and sat down, chocolate in hand, to spend an hour with me.
You’re the one who listened when Jesus whispered in your ear that I needed you.
And for that I thank you.
From the bottom of my heart.