I’m missing my mom so badly!
Time does heal; but the void remains. And certain things like scents, pictures, sounds, even traditions put the spotlight on that void revealing its depth.
Yesterday was two years, eleven months since Mom’s change of address. She was just fine in late September, 2008. And just weeks later, she was in Heaven.
My sister, Vonnie, and I still try to sort through the shock of it every once in a while. Neither one of us wants to mark this time of year solely by her passing; Mom would adamantly protest that! She was all about life and living it fully. Still………..
The perky little LPN examining my medical history yesterday became one of those spotlights I mentioned earlier.
She faced the computer. Clicking briskly, efficiently through the various pages and lines of information they had collected on me over the past six years. Allergies. Medications. Treatments. Tests. Check-ups.
“So, Mrs. Hawley, your children are 18, 20 and 23? Is that correct?”
“Oh, goodness no.” I laughed. “That information is outdated.” I helped her make the corrections.
CLICK. CLICK. (Her mouse was perky too.)
“And your father is 71. Good health?”
“Your mother is 71. Fair health?”
My breath caught and my throat tightened.
“Um. She’s deceased.”
The word MOTHER disappeared from the computer screen. She went on to the next question without so much as a glance backward. No offer of condolence. Not even a pause.
My heart screamed, “Wait a minute! My mom’s life can’t be dismissed with one little CLICK of your ridiculous mouse!”
Tears came to my eyes and silently spilled over the edges. I was glad she didn’t take time to look my way.
I quickly corralled my emotions and swiped at the stray tears; a bit shocked at how suddenly the cloud of emotion had rolled over me.
And like a fall rain storm tends to do, it lingered throughout the day. Little showers hitting without warning. First here; then there. Even as I taught Bible study last night, my throat tightened again. Tears welled. I had to stop and take a deep breath. What else can one do?
But, Dear Reader, know that God is always aware. He is close to the broken-hearted.
When we finally got home from church last night, I drug myself inside and Frank made his pilgrimage to the mailbox. He dropped the mail on the dining room table and we both started working on a snack.
As the water boiled for a cup of liquid comfort, I glanced at the table and spotted a large envelope with a distinctive hand-writing.
Joyce Hawley (just like my own mom) learned cursive writing while it still was considered an art form. And they learned well. I have little notes tucked away all over my house and office with their handwriting as evidence to this fact.
My name and address flowed across the entirety of the 8 ½” X 11” container. A smile broke out as I tore open the flap. The contents? A catalogue and a note.
Frank glanced over my shoulder and commented, “That’s not a catalogue you would order from. Why did Mom send it?”
I was still smiling as I read the enclosed note. “It’s not about the catalogue,” I patiently explained.
“Your mom is telling me she loves me. She knows that if I were at her kitchen table, I would sit and thumb through this. So she went to all the effort to mail it just to let me know that she’s thinking of me.”
Frank wrapped me up in the hug Mom would have given if she could. And I drank in the comfort that the Heavenly Father had sent my way.
I think the hymn writer put it well………”Oh, What a Savior!!”