lighthouses

my mom loves lighthouses. and though it is simple and discerning, she has a small collection of lighthouse treasures. a sculpture or two. a few photographs. a calendar or candle, here and there. a humble menagerie of this symbol she adores. for the past several weeks, my mom has been packing away her treasures. dishes, pots, pans, books, albums. and somewhere amidst the cardboard and tissue paper, a delicately wrapped box of lighthouses. years and years of living, and a lifetime of memories had been held within the walls and halls of this turn-of-the-century farmhouse. and it took everything within me not to cry, as i stood in the center of each room and closed the door behind me, one last time. i did not succeed. tears streamed down my cheeks the entire way, as my mom drove behind me, from her old house to mine. one last mom-daughter night together, for an indefinite length of time, before she drove away to begin a new chapter in and of her life. we took the freeway; the drive along the coast was too painful for her. that night, as she slept beside me, i watched her in her slumber. just stared at her in sheer and utter amazement. i have never seen more beautiful hands. her knuckles were swollen with arthritis. her skin was weathered and dry from sweeping, and scrubbing, and cleaning. pouring her heart into seeing that the house she envisioned growing old in would be as cherished by the new owners who bought it, as she always dreamed it would be. never have i seen a more radiant face. her face was that of an angel. every soft wrinkle and line, sacred to me. i have not before thought snoring to be a more precious sound. i watched the rise and fall of her chest, in rhythm with the sound of her breathing. so thankful that, for the first time in i don't know how long, she was finally sleeping deeply and peacefully. morning came, and i got out of bed as quietly as possible and tip-toed down the hall, in the hope that she would sleep as much as possible. she did. and as we savored our first sips of coffee in the late-morning sun, i marveled at the joy, and the Truth, and the Faith that emanate from her. her gaze, her voice, her touch. of all the children born in all the world, how is it that i was to be the one so fortunate to be born to this precious woman? the afternoon and its inevitable tearful partings came far too quickly, and i found myself calling upon all the strength i could summon within me, once again. and once again, i failed. i was an adult child crying in the arms of an aging woman. drying our eyes as best we could, we prepared to drive away. i toward work, and she toward the next chapter of her life, far away from here. much to my surprise, my mom spontaneously decided to stop by her favorite bakery to buy her favorite cake, to celebrate with family upon reaching her destination. which meant she would be turning left at the stop sign, heading north along the coast, right behind me. when we reached the long, sweeping turn near the harbor, i watched her in my rear-view mirror. her favorite part of the drive. i watched as her car swerved slightly each time she turned her head to take long last looks at her beloved lighthouses in the distance. my eyes welled with tears. in that moment, i honestly don't know which was brighter: the sunlight shining down upon her beautiful face, or the beautiful light shining so brightly from within her. and it was in that moment i realized, i was looking at my lighthouse. to me, she is the most remarkable woman ever to walk the face of this earth. this pillar of strength of a woman has been a beacon of unconditional love and honorable guidance for me my entire life. through thick and thin, through good times and bad, through triumphs and disappointments. through every moment Life blesses me, my mom is always here for me. as we reached the stoplight at the corner of ocean street, i had to continue going straight. i slowed as she was passing alongside me, rolled down my passenger side window, and peered at her through tears. over the vacuum, and the boxes, and the piles of things in my car that i promised to take to the homeless shelter as donations from her. "i love you, mom!" were the last and only words there was time enough to say, and the only words i heard gifted in return, as she turned the corner. and this new chapter officially began. the first page was about to turn. with no one behind me, i slowed to watch as her car grew smaller and smaller, and further away. the greater the distance, the deeper my sense of a rediscovered truth within me. no matter how many miles or days or months pass between us, i will never sail my ship in darkness. i have my Faith...i have my mom...i will always have their light to guide me. i am thankful for my lighthouses.

~ janean christine mariani