Open Arms

She was always there. Every day, without fail. Standing in the bay window to wave me off before another day of school - her radiant smile, not showing any signs of weariness as she raised her hand in farewell, calling out, "Goodbye! I love you!" Often those words hit me as I ran down the road in a hurry, trying to catch the bus. At times, I remembered to stop and turn around, just in time to catch a glimpse of her through the broad pine trees and yell in a hasty return. "Bye! Love you!" Other times I forgot, not stopping to turn around and acknowledge the most incredible and loving mom a daughter could have. Nevertheless, there she was, and when I returned, she would be the first to welcome me home with arms wide open, asking me how my day went. That's who my mom was.

When high school rolled around, there were times when mom was too sick to make it to the window in the morning. I missed hearing her voice call out to me. I missed her when I came home, only to discover she was at a doctor's appointment. Awaiting me, on the kitchen table beside a couple treats, would be a note "Welcome Home, Maranatha." it always said. She never forgot.

The time came when she was no longer able to get herself up so early in the morning. I would run up to her room to say goodbye and then make my way out to the bus. Sometimes I stopped and turned, catching myself looking at an empty bay window. I became accustomed to turning on my iPod and filling her empty farewell with music on the way out. Yet when I returned home she would call to me from her bedroom, where she was laying down to rest, "Welcome home, honey!" Always there.

One morning at the beginning of May, mom had an early doctor's appointment. For the first time in months, she got up with me, prepared my lunch while I ate breakfast and sat down to read and pray with me, just like she always had. Before I left, she kissed me goodbye and I took off to the bus. I was almost too far down the road when I remembered. I ripped my headphones out of my ears, stopped and turned back around, just in time to see her close the window and turn away, unheard. She had been there, waving me off and I had forgotten. "MOM!" I yelled as loud as I possibly could. "Mom! Goodbye! I love you!" I watched her as she left the window, unable to hear me. I remember thinking, "What if this were the last time?" It was.

Two weeks later, I found myself kneeling at my mother's bedside gazing at the most beautiful woman I could have ever known. I saw a mom who cared for me like nobody else could, who fought with all she had to be with her husband and children, who had hope beyond the grave and who loved continuously. It was then that I knew it was my turn to tell her goodbye, my turn to wave her off and tell her how much I loved her. I took her by the hand and told her through the tears pouring down my face. "Goodbye Mom, I love you so much." She rustled in the covers, and I felt her hand gently squeeze mine. Then with all the strength she could manage, she looked at me with those beautiful eyes and with her heart that never stopped loving she said, "I love you too, sweetheart. You're a great daughter." For the last time, she put her thin arms around me and embraced me. As I turned and left the room, I looked back one last time. I pictured that when I am taken into Glory and have met my Savior face-to-face, she will be the first one to welcome me home with arms wide open.

A week ago, dad gave my siblings and I each a letter that my mom wrote to us before she passed away. My hands shook when I came to the final words my mother ever wrote to me. "Remember to watch for me. I'll be running to meet you with open arms. With love forever, Mommy"

Maranatha Dawn

“I love you Forever, Mom”