I am shifting from one place where my heart was squarely planted, to another place entirely. Right or not, it isn’t always the easiest transition. There are some days when I feel like one foot is planted in one home and another foot is planted elsewhere. Neither foot provides me with stable ground.
A few nights ago I was particularly overwhelmed. I had trouble sleeping. It was the middle of the night and for all intents and purposes, I felt alone. Knowing that something good is on its way only provides so much comfort when it is not quite there yet.
I was tired and frustrated and trying to arrange details in my head, which is a somewhat futile effort at 3 a.m. Eventually, I sat on the floor and put my head into my hands. I cried a little. Under my breath I said the truest words that I knew in that moment. I want my mom.
Eventually the feelings of frustration and overwhelm subsided. I was able to focus on everything good once again.
But I was left with this contemplation: I wonder if my mother knew when she died that for all my life she would be inextricably woven into my concept of home. Perhaps I fell asleep a few nights ago because I beckoned her, and her spirit encouraged me to lay down.
Perhaps there was a gentle breeze in the house as the memory of my mother passed through. Maybe she patted my back and kissed the top of my head, as mothers do.
So often, in this blog in particular, I talk about the pain my mother left behind when she died. Still, a few nights ago when the memory of her comforted me, I was so glad for the good memories of her from when she was alive.
She would have been 75 years old today. If she were here, I would tell her happy birthday. She is not here though, so instead I will whisper those words inside myself, knowing that she still comes when I need her, because now she resides squarely in my heart, which is exactly where she belongs.
