The Albanian Mother

THE ALBANIAN MOTHER

It is easy for me to forget simple blessings at this time of year. I was leaving work on Christmas Eve, my arms overloaded with wrapped presents, work out clothes and a beautiful white poinsettia balanced on top of everything. I leave through an electronic door that you have to swipe your ID to unlock the door. I had so much stuff in my arms that by the time I got to the door handle after swiping my ID the door had re-locked. I tried this balancing act three times with mounting frustration each time. I felt like I was auditioning for an episode of I LOVE LUCY. I realized I would be there until the New Year if I did not set something down. Just as I made that decision, everything started tumbling out of my arms and the poinsettia bounced off the top of the pile now on the floor and broke into 4 pieces. I said a very unseasonable word, picked up the mangled pieces of my poinsettia oozing white sap and stuffed it in the trash can. I picked up my things and minus the poinsettia managed to get out the door.

Deciding what is important to take with us is not always easy or logical. As I rode up the elevator to my car I was reminded of a woman I met 25 years ago who had to make an agonizing decision about what to take with her. A year never goes by that I don’t think of her- especially at Christmas-she helps remind me of the true spirit of this season.

When my daughter, Lindsay, who is now in her 20’s was almost one year old we went to Greece to the island her father’s family is from-Nisyros. We stopped in Athens for a couple of days and a friend’s parents offered to pick us up at the airport. When they saw we had a baby with us they insisted we stay with them while we were in Athens. They adored Lindsay and made our stay very memorable so when they invited us to come to church with them we were happy to go. After the service I was standing in the lobby with some women from the congregation. I had Lindsay in my arms her head resting on my shoulder. A woman dressed in black shabby clothes with a scarf covering her hair came up to me and reached to pull Lindsay out of my arms. I pulled back with alarm when one of the women who spoke English explained to me, “She is a refugee from Albania. She and her husband escaped through the mountains during the winter. She has a baby daughter the same age as your daughter. She had to leave her daughter in Albania with her mother because they did not think a baby would survive the journey even if they did. She wants to know if she can hold your daughter.” My heart flooded with compassion as I wondered what circumstances this mother had been living in that would cause her to make this devastating decision that she could not take her daughter with her. All of my fear disappeared as I realized she was just like me and I said ” of course she can hold my baby” and I handed Lindsay to her. The woman smiled at me , took Lindsay into her arms and put her nose to Lindsay’s head inhaling the sweet baby scent . She rocked her and cradled her close as we looked at each other with tears running down both our faces. I do not know her name and never saw her again. I have always thought of her as “the Albanian mother”. I have no way to know if she ever got to hold her own daughter again. I hope so and I pray for her and her daughter every year.

She reminds me that the most important things I take with me I carry in my heart.