Oh, Why Do We Delay So Much…?

After the loss of his cherished companion, Carlyle wrote in his reminiscences: “Alas! her love was never completely known to me . . . till I had lost her. Oh, for five minutes more . . . [with] her . . . to tell her with what . . . love and admiration, . . . I did . . . always regard her! . . . How good and tender she was, . . . Oh, why do we delay so much . . . ?”

This puts us in mind of mothers-we who have lost them-and somehow seems to bring a sense of things we didn’t do. Oh, for five minutes more, to tell her of our love and our too often unexpressed awareness of all she was!

We remember cupboards that always held some sustenance when we came home hungry. We remember nights when we returned too late; but she was always awake and waiting. We remember picnics, and the tired homecoming when she-who had much more reason to be weary-would help us with knotted shoelaces or stubborn buttons and see us settled into sleep, and then attend to countless household chores before she thought of sleep herself.

We remember things she afforded us which she wouldn’t afford for herself; the places she helped us to go, where she did not go, and her pleasure in hearing of our pleasure when we returned to tell what we had seen and done.

We remember things she afforded us which she wouldn’t afford for herself; the places she helped us to go, where she did not go, and her pleasure in hearing of our pleasure when we returned to tell what we had seen and done.

We remember cool, clean sheets, and the wearisome labor of washing them-and clean, fresh clothes, hung out sometimes in the heat of summer, sometimes in the cutting wind of winter, when the hands that hung them were blue and aching with cold.

We remember arms held open for us when we were hurt, hopes held high for us when we were down and discouraged, and quiet comfort for our disappointments, and sustaining strength and faith for our future.

We remember sorrows shared, and confidences that were always kept. We remember cool, quieting hands and comforting encouragement in fever and illness; tempting foods fixed for us, sleep lost for us, and prayers said for us. We remember prayers spoken at her knees, and her own prayers to an Eternal Father who did not fail her. All this and much more we remember of Mother.

And you who have mothers with you yet, will you not say with us as Carlyle said of his lost loved one-only say it sooner: “Thanks, darling, for your shining words and acts. God reward thee, dear one!”

“Oh, why do we delay so much?”