A favorite story for multiple generations in our family
Only a mother can truly understand what another woman is going through as she prepares for the birth of her first child. It becomes up close and personal when that "other" woman is your own baby all grown up who is about to give birth and experiencing discomfort, anxiety, fear, and awe at one and the same time. Such was the case this morning, when Sister Lindsay received a telephone call from our youngest child, Rachel, who will be entering a hospital in Greensboro, North Carolina this evening in preparation for the arrival of a little girl who will become the latest addition to our family.
So there was our daughter holding the telephone close to her face making a quiet plea to the Mommy of her own childhood who was hundreds of miles away."Would you please read Blueberries For Sal to me right now?" she softly asked. Who knows how many times her mother had read her that book when she was a little girl?
"I can't do that, sweetheart," Mother replied. "I don't have the book here with me. Perhaps, you could get Jamie (our son Gordon's wife and mother of three of our granddaughters) to read it to you?"
"It wouldn't be the same. She wouldn't know how to say kerplink, kerplank, kerplunk (the sound of blueberries hitting the bottom of little Sal's small tin bucket)," Rachel sadly responded with a small voice resigned to the reality that her mother wasn't nearby when she wanted her with the book in hand that had comforted her in times past.
With a reassuring steady voice, Mother told her daughter that everything is going to be in good hands with the doctor at the hospital. "You will do just fine," said, "you and the baby will come through this experience without difficulty."
Being a resourceful woman (and an understanding mother), Sister Lindsay then went right to work and soon discovered that someone had recorded Blueberries For Sal in its entirety and placed it on the Internet. She immediately forwarded the link to Rachel as an electronic message.
It wasn't long before there was a brief email response from our daughter. "Thanks Mom, it helped!"
We never know the love of a parent till we become parents ourselves.
- Henry Ward Beecher






