It's been almost two years since my mom took wing and flew away from this world. Two years ago today we took her to the doctor who asked if she was in any pain. Her response, "No, I don't have any pain. I don't even know why they've got me here." Of course, the rattle in her left lung told a slightly different story. The doctor sent her for a chest x-ray and prescribed a round of antibiotics. The next morning she was gone and I found myself thankful for having taken her in while I had the chance.
On one hand I can be grateful for the aching pain inside because it did open some lines of communication between myself and my own children. Some. But on the other hand I am still learning how to guard my own heart and rebuild the boundaries I previously allowed others to trample. Today I am sad. I'm sad because I miss my mom. I'm sad because we never really bridged the chasm. And I'm sad because sometimes old wounds still weep and bleed. This is life, and this is what makes me the woman I am today. Perhaps without the wounds my old heart would have become hard and calloused. Maybe the pain I feel is a gift from a Father who has woven in enough heartache to keep me tender, but not so much that I am totally broken, even if sometimes I feel like I am. They say God uses cracked pots (or maybe it was crackpots...). Whatever it was they said, I do know "the cracks are how the light gets through..." Here's hoping I don't need any more cracking.
The Zimri Waters House.
12 hours ago