Monday, April 13, 2015

Sunday Morning Like Mama

My mom and I hung out Easter morning. 

I think of her every single day. More than once.

I miss her still and though that loss will never fade
it ebbs and flows like the tides. Sometimes crashing like waves
against a sea wall and other times distant and gray on the horizon of 
my day.

Always there though.
Always there. 

Often these last few hard years I have wondered what her advice
to me would sound like. Usually I decide it would sound like 
Keep on going, Honey. 
You don't really have a choice. 
Just do what you need to do. 
You're doing just fine.

And so I keep going. Doing what needs to be done. 

When I grow weary of the going and the doing I feel my soul
looking for her. Reaching and stretching towards her like the arms of my sweet grand-babies reaching towards their own mamas.

My heart is just hoping for a glimpse is all.
Just yearning for a brief moment 
as the child again. 

Easter morning I caught that glimpse when I woke early to get
Sunday lunch started before church. 

Already dressed in my Sunday best 
and wrapped up in one of her aprons I put the 
butter beans on to cook and I almost heard her whisper.

In an instant I flew through years to those Sunday mornings 
when I woke to the sounds of her in the kitchen starting Sunday lunch
even before the rest of us were ready for breakfast.

Just for a moment
I saw her with that same apron over her Sunday dress.

Just for a breath
as my heart stretched towards hers 
I felt her right there beside me.

And my mama held me again. 

It made the day with my own precious angels all the sweeter.

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