Come what May

May is an interesting month for me. Sort of an emotional smorgasbord. I know what’s on the menu, but I still find myself surprised by the intensity of the flavors.

May 5th is our anniversary. This year marked twenty-six years of marital monkeyshines. Get married, y’all. Then have a few kids. It’ll grow you up right quick.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. Luke called from Wisconsin. Grace called from Seattle. George grilled filet mignon and veggies. He prayed a sweet prayer before the meal. Jacob almost never prays out loud, but when George said, “Please let Jeanne know how much I love her and how much her children love her . . .” I heard Jacob whisper, “I love her so much.” Did you know a heart can sing and break at the same time?

My first Mother’s Day was Sunday, May 10, 1981. I awoke at 4:30 in the morning, because my water broke. At 9:00 PM, Jacob arrived by emergency cesarean section. My first-born son. The delight of my eyes. A strong-willed fireball of a kid with an impish grin and the mischief to match it. I don’t think a woman’s heart can know its capacity for love until she gazes into her child’s eyes. Nor can it know its capacity for pain.

Which brings me to another May milestone. May 23, 1996. Jacob’s drowning accident. The day that plunged our family into turbulent waters and left a scar much deeper than the one I’d carried from his birth. Almost a year passed before we heard Jacob’s voice again.

This morning I awoke to whispered words. In the fog of half-sleep–the place where dreams dance with reality–I thought I heard a summons. The voice was familiar. The words were as simple as they were profound.

I opened my eyes and propped up on an elbow. Through the door I saw Jacob in the next room, sitting in the recliner. “What did you say?”

He shifted his gaze toward me. “Live for Jesus Christ.”

“Why did you say that?”

He pointed to a simple silver sculpture on the dresser. “The three crosses reminded me.”

The three crosses. In the days before the flood, Jacob once penned a sign and posted it above his bedroom door. He was in a coma when I noticed it for the first time and broke down weeping. He’d drawn three crosses on a hill. And he’d written these words: “Today is the greatest day, and I am in it.”

May is an interesting month for me. An emotional smorgasbord. But that’s okay. I’m learning that, without the bitter, the sweet is far less satisfying. So I’ll taste what comes my way today. I’ll heed the whispered summons, taking the tears with the laughter. Today is the greatest day, and I am in it.

So are you.