A Mother's Day Tribute

"In a world that forgets to be gentle, a mother’s love is the first place we learn to feel safe. And when that love fades from sight, sometimes it’s a friend, a memory, or a whisper in the stillness that reminds us we’re not alone."

*****

The leaves rustled softly in the breeze, dancing across the cracked pavement that wound through the tired city park. In the distance, a boy kicked an empty can across the half-faded basketball court, the clatter echoing off chain-link fences. Nearby, a group of teens hunched on a graffiti-covered picnic table, passing a cigarette with the slow care of those who had nowhere better to be.

A siren wailed somewhere beyond the rooftops—so familiar that it was ignored. The afternoon heat was thick and unmoving, clinging to skin like a damp sheet. Everything felt slow and worn, like the whole block was holding its breath and didn’t expect it to get any easier when it exhaled.

Emma sat beneath an old oak tree, knees drawn to her chest, clutching the stem of a daisy that had lost half its petals. Her brother, Jason, thirteen and already hardened at the edges, sat beside her, arms folded tightly across his chest. Their friend, Marcus, rested a little way off, picking at the bark of a broken stick. No one spoke.

“She can’t die! What will we do if she’s not here?” Emma whimpered.

The words landed like stones on the ground between them. Jason looked away, muttering, “Stop with your crying, Em. Tears aren’t going to change anything.”

“But Jason—” the young girl tried to stifle her tears, but her sense of loss was overwhelming. “Who will take care of us?”

Jason shrugged. “I can take care of myself, something you’ll have to learn to do. Like Dad always says, we’ve got to stand on our own two feet.”

No one answered right away. The street noise continued in the background—distant music, a honk, someone shouting—but it all seemed far off, like it belonged to another world.

After a long moment, Marcus said softly, “When my grandpa passed last year, my grandma read something to us. It was from the Bible. Psalm 23. I didn’t get it at first, but I think it helped — a little.”

Jason let out a scoff. “Church stuff,” he muttered. “My dad says it’s all fake. Just a way to take your money and tell you what to do. Nobody’s watching out for us. You’ve gotta look out for yourself.”

Marcus didn’t argue. He just nodded slowly, like he understood. “Your dad works hard. I get it. Life hasn’t been easy, but it could have been worse. Your mom’s not in pain, is she?”

Emma sniffled. “No, she just lies there, barely breathing.”

“Maybe she’s giving you a little time to understand and to say your goodbyes. Some people never get that chance.”

Jason shifted. “If God’s so great at watching people, how come our mom’s dying? Doesn’t he know that Emma needs her mother? Or maybe what happens in our world doesn’t matter to him?”

Marcus shook his head. “You’re wrong, Jason. He doesn’t care if you are rich or poor. He let his own son die on a cross for us.”

Emma gasped, but Jason’s lip curled into a snarl. “And you want us to believe someone would trade his own flesh and blood for our lives? I think you’ve been smoking something, Marcus. No one would do that.”

“I believe —”

Jason leaned toward Marcus, shoving him. “I don’t know who convinced you about all this crap, but no one is ever going to do something like that — not for me, not for Emma, and not for you.”

Emma tugged at Jason’s arm. “Stop it! Remember when you thought that Santa Claus was real. You didn’t want anyone to tell you anything different. Marcus has that right to. He’s not forcing you to believe him.”

Jason stared at his friend, then turned away, muttering. “I figured you for one of the smart ones, but I guess you’re just like the rest of us, hoping for something magical to rescue us from this dump.”

Marcus shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said, the choice is yours, Jason. I believe in the hereafter and there’s nothing hocus pocus about it.”

“You expect this Shepherd of yours to pull a trick out of his hat and make us all live happily ever after? It’s not going to happen, my friend.”

“You’re right, Jason, he doesn’t deal with tricks. All he asks is that we have faith. The Psalm says he will leadeth us into green pastures.”

Jason scuffed his shoe against the loose dirt. “He’s not doing a very good job around here.”

Emma twirled the wilted daisy she’d been holding. “I want to hear what your grandmother told you.” She looked up at Marcus with red-rimmed eyes. “What does the psalm say?”

Marcus hesitated. “I don’t remember every word, but it starts with, ‘The Lord is my shepherd — I shall not want.”

Jason sneered, “Right there, it shows he’s a joke.”

Ignoring her brother, Emma frowned. “A shepherd? Like — with sheep?”

Marcus smiled. “Yeah. My grandma said it means God watches over people like a shepherd does with his flock. Keeps them from getting lost. Makes sure they have what they need.”

Jason spat on the ground. “So this so-called shepherd thinks this is what we need? Dad was right. If you want something, you’re going to have to get it on your own. No one’s going to give it to you. Not even this shepherd you believe in.”

There was no anger in Marcus’s eyes. Just sadness. “I don’t think God stops every bad thing from happening, but I don’t think He leaves us alone in it either.”

Jason scoffed. “He didn’t stop your grandpa from dying. He’s not stopping it from happening to our mom.”

Marcus looked down. “No. He didn’t stop it. But I didn’t feel alone. Grandma said that God’s words were meant to make it easier to understand the bad times.”

Emma blinked. “So — ‘I shall not want’ means what? I won’t want anything?”

“Not exactly. It means you’ll have what really matters. Peace. Strength. Someone to hold onto when everything’s falling apart.”

Emma rubbed her eyes and stared down at the daisy in her lap. The last petal was hanging on, barely. Jason was silent but still there, maybe listening.

Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The next part is, ‘He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.’”

Emma tilted her head. “That sounds really pretty.”

“It is,” Marcus said. “I think it means — sometimes when everything is loud and hard, God gives you a place to rest. Feeling safe, even when everything else is a mess. My grandma said those still waters — those calm places—they’re inside us. God helps us find them.”

Emma looked around the park. The broken benches. The heat rising off the concrete. She didn’t see any green pastures or still waters. Emma’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I haven’t felt peaceful in a long time.”

“Me either,” Marcus admitted. “Not since before Grandpa got sick. But when I picture it—green fields, quiet water—it helps me not feel so scared.”

Emma nodded, just a little.

“Then it says, ‘He restores my soul,’” Marcus went on. “Like — He makes your heart feel whole again. Gives you strength when you’re empty.”

Jason stood suddenly. “It’s just words,” he said. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Emma grabbed his arm. “But when Mom dies, we’ll be alone.”

Marcus looked at her gently. “No,” he said. “You’re wrong.”

Emma’s eyes widened.

“Even in the darkest, scariest times,” Marcus said, “God is still there. That’s what it means when it says, ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.’ Not because the valley disappears—but because you’re not alone.”

Emma wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

“But I won’t see Him,” she whispered.

“No,” Marcus said. “But maybe He sends people. Friends. People who stay beside you when it hurts. Like me.” He offered a soft chuckle. “I can’t fix the pain. But I can sit with you. I can help you explain how hurt and lost you feel. Sometimes that’s what a shepherd does, too.”

A voice called from across the park. “Yo, J! You coming or what?”

A group of older boys stood near the edge of the basketball court, waving him over. One of them grinned and mimed locking a door. “We’re hittin’ Baker’s shop. The old man’s asleep in the back. Easy pickin’s.”

Jason turned his head. His jaw tightened.

Emma jumped up. “Jason, no! Don’t go!”

“They’ve got my back, not some invisible guy in the sky,” he said, his voice flat. “You think words are gonna save us? That stuff Marcus said— it's just a bedtime story. Mom’s dying, Em. This world’s not waiting around for us to feel better.”

Marcus stood, too. “Are those guys really with you, Jason?” he asked quietly. “Or are they just standing next to you?”

Jason hesitated. Then, without a word, he walked away.

Emma watched him go, shoulders shaking.

Marcus sat beside her in silence.

After a while, she whispered, “You really think that shepherd—God—He won’t leave me?”

Marcus nodded. “I do. And you don’t have to understand everything right now. Just believe that you’re not alone.”

Emma’s eyes filled again, but this time the tears came slower. “Thank you,” she said. “I still feel sad but not so scared.”

“That’s a good place to start,” Marcus said. “Sometimes a friend is all you need.”

“Like you?”

Marcus smiled. “Yeah. Like me. I can’t fix it, Emma. But I can sit here. I can help you find words for the heavy stuff in your chest. Sometimes that’s what helps.”

The trees swayed gently as the sun dipped behind them. In the distance, Jason paused for a moment at the edge of the park. He looked back—just once—then disappeared behind the grocery store.

Somewhere across the street, a baby cried. A car backfired. Life went on. Emma leaned her head on Marcus’s shoulder, and for the first time in days, the ache in her chest eased—just a little.

Dedication

    “She may be gone from our sight, but never from our story.”

For my mother.
I miss you more than words can ever say. This story is for the children who feel lost, for the ones who carry fear in their hearts, and for the quiet comfort found in simple truths. You taught me how to love, how to listen, and how to begin again. I know you are always with me, and until we meet again, your love remains. Happy Mother's Day, Mom.