The Queer, Dull Ache

I awoke this morning with a queer, dull ache. A tightness had wound itself around my heart, and I felt as though my strength were wasted already. An inauspicious way to start the day.

Today is Mother's Day. And I miss my mom.

This is the eighth year that I've had to mark this day to honor mothers without her. It is the fourth year that I've marked it as a mother myself.

I wish my mom were here to meet her granddaughter.

I tell Sadie stories about Grandma Emilie, and Sadie -- who is amazing -- tells me stories about her, too. One night, a few months ago, while I was getting her bath ready, Sadie startled me. She said, offhandedly, "Grandma Emilie doesn't want you to worry about these things." I said, "What things?" Sadie replied, "All things." I said, "Who is Grandma Emilie?" Sadie said, "You know her. She is your mama." I asked, "Where is Grandma Emilie?" Sadie said, "I saw her in heaven, with the Lord." I started to cry.

(Sadie has an unusual and eerie focus upon living with the Lord. When she prays, she always says that she hopes to live with the Lord someday. She's even argued with me, yelling that she wants to go live with the Lord right now. Funny little girl.)

I wonder: maybe my mother has already met her granddaughter. I do not know the mysterious workings of the Lord -- only that He is mysterious and His hand works within my life for good. There's a lot of my mom in Sadie.

So, I miss my mother, but I can remember with gratitude her life and her mothering. I hope that, even though we clashed loudly and often in this life, she knows somehow that I love her and respect her so.

Thank you, Mom, for always doing the best that you knew how. I wish we had been closer in this world, and I'm looking forward with all my heart to our reunion in the next.

Happy Mother's Day.