Angels Aren’t in Heaven
The deeper the pain, the stronger the …
Last week was my mother’s birthday.
She would have enjoyed 240 seasons.
She would have been a grandmother for the third time.
Sixty is a milestone for many. However, for me, it was a day of reminiscence and tears. It was a day of remembrance for a soul that left too early, and whose touch I feel more strongly now than when her physical presence was with us.
I long for her love and voice again and again.
On her birthday, I took a drive alone because I needed to cry. Ben Harper’s Waiting on an Angel kept me company.
One of my cousins, who’s an engineer and very analytical by nature, called me a few months after my mother passed to ask how many times I cried a day compared to when she first passed. I told him I cry less, but her memories still paint my world from time to time, often in surprises.
Nothing can prepare you for a mother’s loss, especially if you had a wonderful one like I did.
Nature provides in abundance. It gives tangible resources, intangible memories, and stories, but it also takes back what it’s loaned. The people in our lives are no different because we are inseparable — part and particle of everything bestowed upon us…
