Been thinking about you a lot lately. I miss you…so very, very much. I long for our weekly conversations. No specific topic…just chatter about the seemingly insignificant events that played out since we last talked. Funny how those discussions don’t feel so trivial any more. They have taken on a whole new meaning. I now see them as the medium in which we expressed our love. Not by the specific words that passed between us…but by the time we spent sharing…keeping in touch over the miles.
Every weekend, I find myself habitually reaching for the phone to call you. You’re still at the top of my favorites list and contact list. When I added your number, I entered “A Mom” to make sure you sorted to the top…easily accessible…always visible…always there. I can’t bring myself to remove your number. When the phone rings, I hold my breath for an instant…wondering if you are on the other end. Then reality comes crashing down on me. I will never get to hear your voice again. Never again chuckle at the messages you left that usually started with “I’m not wanting anything…just calling to see what you’re into. You don’t have to call me back. Talk to you later.”
I wish I could have spent more time with you over the past two years. When I look back on those days, I get angry. No…stronger than that…I become enraged. To borrow your words…“Fit to be tied!” I’m livid that the cancer prevented me from traveling long distances…from coming home to visit. And no, I’m not mad at God. I know there’s a reason that I had to experience the cancer…but I DO wish He would let me in on the secret. No, I’m just mad at the circumstances…mad about the lingering side effects that have a daily impact on my life…mad that we didn’t get a chance to make up for all that lost time.
But I digress. You know how I ramble on and on…and on. Let’s get back to you. I just gotta ask…So, how’s that new body working out for you? I bet you’re thrilled that all of the needles and tubes and staples are gone. No one waking you up for more tests…more needle sticks or to take your temperature. I can see you beaming from ear to ear as you look at your new, shimmering skin. Bruises gone. I bet you’re walking on air…on cloud nine! OK…OK…I just couldn’t resist the clichés. You gotta admit it…now that’s funny, eh?!
I know there’s a lot of worshiping going on in Heaven. How’s the singing work? Do you automatically know the words or is it kinda like karaoke? You know I can’t sing worth anything…not one of my gifts. Which makes me wonder…does everyone sing good up there? I just can’t imagine being in His presence…what’s it like? I bet you’re talking His ear off. I think I would be speechless…which is pretty much a miracle if you think about it….me, speechless. LOL! Reminds me of the Mercy Me song “I can only imagine.”
Oh yea, before I forget. Thanks for the amazing sunset you left for us the day you went home. After we (the immediate family) said “good-bye” to you, we escorted the Hospice team to their cars. Everyone gasped in awe as our eyes absorbed the vibrant blues, pinks, and purples in the sky.
My heart leapt with joy…it immediately understood the significance and beauty of the moment…the significance that eluded me for several weeks.
We stood there…embracing in the driveway…alternating between wiping the tears and taking another photo. We wanted to remember this vision. We needed to remember your smile in the sunset…the beautiful purple sunset. By the way, did I ever tell you that purple is my favorite color? To be honest, I only just figured that out during cancer treatments…but that’s another story. I recently learned purple symbolizes spirituality. So I’m sure you can guess that I was overjoyed to see the image of Jesus silhouetted in the purple clouds. Welcoming you to your new home.
One last thing before I go…We could really use some help down here. We need some guidance on how to move on with our lives…how to live without you. Please help us to move past the pain to a place where the beautiful memories are not followed by the void of losing you. Help us to remember that you are happy, and healthy, and in the presence of perfect peace. Yup, that’s it…maybe you can send a bit of that peace our way.
Until next time…
I LOVE YOU, MOM