This morning, when I read her email, I was immediately taken back to the hotel room, with its canary and ivory striped walls and plush chairs. With the ornate lobby filled with rich mahogany furniture and a view of the La Jolla coast. I’ve been in contact with a bride who’ll wed next year at the gorgeous L’Auberge Del Mar, but this post isn’t about weddings, it’s about life.
A few years ago, my father was asked to speak at a church in San Diego and—upon hearing of my mother’s brain cancer—a gracious family hosted us at L’Auberge. They wanted our family to spend time together, to enjoy the sea air, to sip tea at local cafes. Away from cancer, away from fear, away from death. A pastor’s salary hardly affords such luxury (my family usually rocks a Radisson like no one else), but we decided a night away would be welcomed.
When we walked into the opulent lobby, each of us carrying mismatched luggage, my father asked the family to pick our jaws off the floor because it made us look like we didn’t belong. I gave him a look that was all, Look, Dad, our jaws? They’re not the only thing that lets everyone know we’re not regulars…
We were personally escorted to our room, with its canary and ivory striped walls and plush chairs. My mother rested her bald head against the Egyptian cotton pillows and we sat in silence. The rest of the day was spent together, enjoying the sea air, sipping tea at local cafes. Away from cancer, away from fear, away from death.
A few years later, my mother’s health has improved and God has granted her another lease on life. Last Sunday, my family joined JD’s family for a barbeque and we sat under the shade of patio umbrellas. We spoke about the past, and what the future holds. Sitting there, I realized it had been a while since my mom and I sat together and enjoyed life. Smelling the sea air, if you will. For so long, I clung to my mother for fear of losing her, but now that she’s in remission, I haven’t taken the time to just be still with her.
Getting the bride’s email this morning reminded me to call my mom and chat for bit. Life is beautiful. And brief. I’m learning to take time and enjoy its most valuable moments.
