Sacred

When I say the word sacred

Sacred

When I say the word sacred,

I mean the dry, chapped skin

of my mother’s hand that I held

as often as I could the last week

she was alive. I mean her smile

as soon as she saw me walking,

masked, into her hospital room

and said the two words that will

follow me to my own final days:

My baby. I mean the chills that

gather at the back of my neck

when I say those words out loud,

and feel the love interlaced with

each letter, each sound, her voice

filled with childlike delight

at seeing her own child again.


I remember moving in a perpetual state of both anticipatory grief and amazement during the final days of my mother’s life. I spent a week with her, showing up early each morning at the hospital and staying by her bedside for as long as I could. We told stories, watched a marathon of Hallmark Christmas movies together, and I fed her whenever her hand shook too much to bring the fork or spoon to her mouth. I did not know she was dying at the time, though the signs might be clear now in hindsight. I only sensed that what we were sharing was sacred, no matter how hard or sad those days also felt. I will never forget the comfort flowing both ways between us as I held her hand, feeling the dryness and rubbing in lotion a few times. I’ll also never forget the words she uttered the first morning I stepped into her room, having flown in the night before. “My baby,” she said, smiling, having recognized me in spite of the mask I wore. It was impossible for me not to feel the larger presence of something holy, something awesome—in the truest sense of that word—that I might venture to call God. Others may prefer another term, and though my own spiritual practice is a mix of meditation, prayer, writing, walks in nature, and wisdom drawn from all traditions, I find I also crave a name for that transcendent feeling that followed me through those days. As Mirabai Starr writes in Ordinary Mysticism, “God is our code word for everything that is wondrous and mysterious and hidden at the heart of our deepest heartache and most childlike delight.” I find the same feeling when I can drop into any present moment with loving attention seamlessly woven with whatever or whomever is before me. And when I hear again those two words my mother said to me—My baby—spoken with childlike wonder at seeing her own child, I know I will carry them with me for the rest of my life.


Invitation for Writing & Reflection: When you hear the word, “sacred,” what images or memories stir for you? You might borrow my first line to spark some writing of your own: “When I say the word sacred . . .” See what specific details spring to mind, and allow yourself to be surprised.


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Photo credit: Photo by Nani Chavez on Unsplash