Seeing miracles is a daily choice – one that can be hard to make when there's errands to be run and traffic to be dealt with and negative news pouring in from all sources. I almost missed one myself this weekend…

My husband and I took our daughters and one of their friends to the school play on Saturday. We thought it would be a fun diversion from the "stay-in-the-house-because-its-too-cold" confinement we'd been immersed in all week. Still, it was a lesson in coordination to get us all there on time, and when I finally sat down in the uncomfortable metal folding chair way in the back, I at least hoped I could zone out long enough to get my miracle-legs underneath me again.

Well, as is typical with kids' plays, we couldn't really hear the kids on stage and there was a kind of circus atmosphere (although cute) that had you teetering on the edge of your wobbly chair wondering whether someone was going to take a header off the stage.  Amidst the managed chaos, I did notice one particular grey-haired lady a few rows up from ours, seemingly unfazed by what wasn't going so smoothly. I could only see the back of her head, but did note that she sported an Aqua Net-worthy "hair-do" that old ladies – like my mom – get done at the beauty shop once a week. I imagined she was somebody's grandma, and that there would be much praise at the end of whatever her grandchild managed to accomplish up there.

Well, we were on our way out when Dave realized he couldn't find a piece of paper he had put in his pocket. It was our daughter's test scores, on the back of which he had written her friend's address. I told him I had seen him take it out of his pocket and put it on the chair next to him. Seeing as he was taking the whole brood home in his car, I offered to go back and get it.

I did, and there it was just as he left it. But this time as I was leaving, I found myself behind the little old grey-haired lady and a woman who must have been her daughter or daughter-in-law, slowly walking beside her as she took her slow, measured shuffle steps. The grandma was hunched over and probably much shorter than she had been in her younger days. I heard the younger woman making small talk pleasantly as they walked, as if to pass the time as they began trailing further and further behind the other families. "This is a nice school, isn't it?" she'd ask. "Yeeeeeessss…." agreed the old lady. "And what a nice play…" "Oh, yeeeesss!" remarked the old woman. I thought that this must be a big outing for the grandma, just like it would have been….for MY mom.

And suddenly, it hit me. I was catapulted back in time to when I was that woman walking beside my much older, slower, but appreciative mom. Trying to make small talk. Wanting to help – but not too much so as not to embarrass her. I remembered how frustrated I used to feel at her slowness (I know, I sound terrible); and just as quickly, I thought, "My God, I'd give anything to be that woman walking beside her mom right now." I was watching my old life next to my mom, and wanting it back.

Well, I couldn't get over it. I felt so sad and even a bit angry that even after a year, these memories would come flooding back and swallow me up. Why now? Why did I have to see someone that looked and acted like my mom TODAY? Later that night, I told Dave about it and how sad I was just "out of the blue." He said, "Well, maybe there's a reason you saw her today." The last minute decision to go to the play; the difficulty getting there; my noticing this woman amidst the chaos; Dave's leaving an important paper on the chair; my offering to go back and get it, and then BAM: there she was. It was like I was supposed to see her, watch her,  and remember.

This is where 20/20 hindsight kicked in. I started thinking about this time last year. I remembered it was sometime around this date that we buried my mom at Arlington National Cemetary, but I had forgotten the exact day. So this afternoon I emailed my brother Steve to see if he remembered. Yes, he said. We buried her on February 11th, which was Saturday. Suddenly, "mom's" appearance was comforting, not depressing. It was like she was showing "us" to me, remembering us in a way that perhaps she feels good about (I hope). Maybe, as Dave says, she wanted us to know that she was there, "attending" our daughter's event in a way that she probably never could have at age 90. In any case, I choose to believe the miracle, even if I'm coming at it about 48-hours after the fact. Again, it's a "daily" choice.

Thanks for reading…and miracles always!