My mother can see with vivid clarity. Everything.

It has been a crazy week, which makes for plenty of fodder for this blog.

Everyone who knows me knows I believe my mother is a living saint. A saint for having lived through what she has, and still maintain her sweet, kind, and patient disposition toward her family. Her fierce protection of her grandchildren, children and husband (probably in that order) are to be simultaneously admired and feared.

And you also know that I am not anything close to being a saint. So as much as I love my mother, I do get impatient with her and lose my temper too often. Enough that I live in dread that when I lose her, I will not be able to move forward with my life. That when that horrible day comes, my children will also lose their mother because I am certain I will not be able to recover from such a tremendous loss. So, that keeps me going, trying to be a better person. Be more patient. Be more like my mother.

For most of my life, I remember my mother's vision to be poor. Finally, when I was in junior high and in the throes of teenaged acne, she got glasses. At the table one afternoon, she put on her glasses and marveled at what she could see. Then she turned to me, and her brows furrowed. Then she stated "My goodness, you have a lot of zits on your forehead." End of commentary, and never commented on again. Until now.

Earlier this year, my mother was diagnosed with cataracts. After much discussion and convincing, she agreed to have surgery. Before her surgery, her vision was 20/125, which means she can see at 20 feet what a normal person can see at 125 feet. Pretty bad. Finally, she had the surgery on Wednesday with much trepidation on her part, my part, my sister's part, and just about everyone else we knew got the pleasure of hearing of our apprehensions. It was the first time she had had an IV, much less be admitted into a hospital, stripped down, and wheeled away on a bed.

But as we all know, the surgery is really quick and relatively simple. Not 24 hours post-surgery, her vision had improved to 20/40! She was so excited at the clarity of everything around her. She, and truth be told, and I were so pleased at how well she could see and navigate her way through everything. It really was like a new beginning for her--seeing the world through new eyes, the way God intended for her to appreciate all the colors to go with all the sounds and smells.

Then, she turned to me. Her brows furrowed. Again. "What is THAT on your FACE?!!!" Huh? What? What's on my face? "It's on your cheek, over your nose, and over your other cheek!" Ah, that would be my freckles. You know, the ones I've been sporting for about 30 years or so. Her response? "Oh. Well, that's not good."

And to think, that's just one eye. I just can't wait to see what other imperfections are revealed when BOTH eyes get to explore this "new" world.