At court last Wednesday, I secured an order for my sixteen-year-old appointed client, mother of a twenty-month old, to have weekly visitation with him at the school where she lives nearly two hours from the city.  On leaving court, I said:  “Who will take my client’s son to see him on Mother’s Day?”  I looked expectantly at those with the legal responsibility to facilitate visitation.

Not I, said the caseworker.  It’s Mother’s Day, you know!  I did know:  Precisely.

Not I, said the care provider.  I’m having surgery on Thursday.  Oh-kay.   I did not ask what surgery, though I later learned it was to make her stomach smaller so she could lose weight.

And the parent aide cannot do it, said the case worker quickly.  She’ll take the boy ten days from now.  Ten days from now it is not Mother’s Day.

I got a little pissy.  Okay, well, I’m not the case worker, the care provider nor the parent aide, but if none of you all are going to take him, then by God, I will, said I.  They hastened to assure me that they all were certainly fine with that.  No kidding.

So I retrieved the little boy right after the thunderstorm abated and off we went.  He slept the entire way.  When we got to the place, I took his tiny hand and led him across the parking lot.  We gained admission to the secure facility, and spoke with the weekend supervisor whom I had previously met.  Then, a door opened, and my client bounded from the back echelons of the secure facility, darting forward and swooping her child into her arms.  Mama, mama!  he cried, over and over.

Suddenly, I felt a surge of gratitude for those who shirked the duty which was theirs.  Had they not done, then I could never have witnessed this most remarkable, joyful reunion between mother and son.

And so:  though my mother is long dead; and my son far away, I had the most Happiest of Mother’s Days.  No fancy brunch — we went to McDonald’s and I had a really horrible fish sandwich.  But this young mother carried her boy, held a straw so he could drink water, cooed over his hand-print Mother’s Day Card made by a thoughtful daycare provider, and thanked me, over and over, for bringing her son to see her.

And so:  once again, I realize how blessed my life is, and how brightly shines the silver lining on every cloud.  On the way home, I played Bonnie Raitt and sang The Wheels on the Bus, and then this little boy and I played “call and response”.  His shrieks of delighted laughter still echo in my ears alongside the chronic tinnitus.  It’s quite the symphony.

Happy Mother’s Day!