For Mother's Day, a Virginia mom's stunning discovery reminds her of God's loving presence
The pair behind the Godwinks brand, SQuire Rushnell and Louise DuArt, share a beautiful story of love, loss and faith for Mother's Day this year and all year long.
Just ahead of Mother's Day this year, the husband-and-wife team of SQuire Rushnell and Louise DuArt, co-founders of the Godwinks brands and based in Massachusetts, shared an endearing personal story of family and faith with Fox News Digital.
It's among the stories they're writing for a forthcoming book.
"We all need more light. We need more positivity. We need family and faith, hope and strength — that's what these stories are all about," the couple told Fox News Digital by phone.
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SQuire Rushnell is the New York Times-bestselling author of 12 Godwinks books, six of them co-authored by the pair.
The couple are executive producers of the popular Hallmark "Godwink" movie series, and their first film for Netflix, "Rescued for Ruby," premiered as the network’s No. 1 family movie worldwide — grabbing over 100 million viewers in its first 365 days. (It recently ranked as the top "dog movie" of all time on Netflix.)
Enjoy this piece from SQuire Rushnell and Louise DuArt published here by special arrangement — and in celebration of Mother's Day this weekend for mothers and families everywhere.
Mary Alexander of Virginia sat cross-legged on the floor of the closet, lost in sadness.
When she’d gotten up that morning, she had the mistaken notion that diving into the drudgery of cleaning out a closet would be a fitting distraction from the sorrow that had again crept over her.
Yet another Mother’s Day was approaching since she lost her youngest son, Jason.
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She felt the twinge of disappointment.
Once again, she wouldn’t be receiving Mother’s Day cards from both her boys this year, a special experience she’d enjoyed for so long.
Her other son Brian, who had lived in Norway for several years, never forgot — and his sweet card had already arrived. She was so appreciative of that.
It was the missing card from the missing son that broke her heart.
As far back as she could remember, Jason had always made a fuss over Mother’s Day.
His cards as a child were always carefully handcrafted. Then, as a young man, he’d endlessly search the shop racks for a card expressing just the right sentiments to touch his mother’s heart.
The thought of it filled her eyes with tears.
She forced herself to pivot back to the task at hand.
"How can you lose a son who’s only 39 years old?" she asked herself rhetorically while pulling old papers and magazines from a large cardboard box that had occupied too much space for too long.
"And how could the same mother who nursed that child never know that he had an oversized heart?"
Again she searched her conscience. Was there something she could have done to prevent her son’s death?
Her urge to lose herself in tears was momentarily crowded out by a happy thought. She pictured Jason that final time he came over for Wednesday dinner, which he did every week almost without fail.
Remembering his boyish blush when she teased him — calling him "her bachelor son," "my 6-foot-6’ gentle giant" or "her baby" — made her smile.
She also loved his sensitivity. Since his older brother could only get back to the U.S. at Christmas, Jason seemed to expand his attentiveness to his mother, as if to help compensate.
Mary Alexander remembered her youngest son's sweet countenance that last evening.
As he was about to leave her that night, she had the urge to hug him extra tight, a little bit longer.
Then, inexplicably, she burst into tears.
She quickly chastised herself. After all, she would see him again ... next Wednesday. Right? That’s what she told herself.
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But her mother’s intuition became a tragic reality when she heard the knock on the door at 4 a.m.
She peeked out and saw four police officers standing there. Knowing it couldn't be good news, she screamed for her husband, Neil.
An officer explained that Jason had been to a concert with friends. He told the others he was tired and wasn’t feeling well, so someone escorted him to the car to lie down. That’s where he was found. A massive heart attack had taken his life.
Only later did an autopsy discover that Jason had an enlarged heart.
Sitting on the floor of the closet, replaying the memory of the police officers speaking in guarded voices and recalling her sudden sense of collapsing, she again felt tears straining to rise from the back of her throat.
She forced her lips tightly together, trying to hold them at bay.
Frustrated, she roughly shoved the box, but it was too heavy. It didn’t budge. She yanked out handfuls of old magazines, slamming them onto the floor.
Again reaching into the box, she felt something. She lifted it up — and it stopped her in her tracks.
It was an unstamped envelope, addressed in a child’s handwriting, to the local newspaper.
Thirty years had passed since either of her boys had written in that childlike manner.
She wondered: So whose handwriting is it?
She opened the envelope. It was a newspaper contest asking for an essay that would complete this statement: "My mother is the best mom because ..."
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Dumbfounded, Mary slowly read the child’s words before her.
"She’s always there when I need her the most. Even though I can make her real angry sometimes, she always understands because she’s so caring and understanding ... That’s why she’ll always be No. 1 to me, and her family."
And then she saw the name of the signer.
It was from her son, Jason.
He was 12 years old when he wrote that message.
In a mixture of melancholy and joy, Mary’s tears dripped down her cheeks. She realized she was holding a treasured gift that had arrived via special delivery, by the hand of God.
While sitting on the floor of her closet, Mary’s unspoken prayer was answered. She would get Mother’s Day cards this year from both her sons, from Jason as well as from Brian.
She began contemplating the wink from God — what we call the "Godwink."
Jason had never mailed his entry to the newspaper, probably due to lacking a stamp.
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But if he had, that little envelope never would have been sitting at the bottom of the box, waiting for his mom to find it, at just the right moment on Mother’s Day weekend, 30 years later.
She giggled at the idea that Jason, at that moment, was undoubtedly at God’s side ... and both were looking down, giggling right along with her.
Godwinks are left at everyone’s doorstep. We encourage you to open the door... and open your gift.
Anyone can learn more about the Godwinks projects at www.godwinks.com.
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