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.