Waves. They have washed over more gently this time than at my father's passing, but I'm finding they can still catch me off guard. This morning at church an old friend of Mom gave me a hug. "I'm sorry I didn't make it to your mother's service," she said, and suddenly the tears welled up and there was a lump in my throat. Lois is the only real friend my mom had at our little church in Williamson. They go back farther than I can remember, back to a time when I was a little girl of three or four riding in the backseat of Lois' car on the way to Ladies' Bible study... Each Sunday for the three years Mom went to church with us, she would look for her friend Lois, a familiar face in a sea of strangers. No wonder the waves washed over me. I should have known they would.
We are doing well for the most part. As our assistant pastor said this morning, "As we grow older we learn to tie a knot in the end of our rope and hold on tight." We've been letting go of Mom a little at a time for the past 13 years. Seven years ago I wrote about saying goodbye never knowing what would lie between that time and today.
Please forgive the repeated Mom posts as I attempt to put my thoughts back in order.
The Barn Collective.
18 hours ago