Photo taken in 1997 - Four Generations!

I miss my Mom.  Shouldn’t I be too old to miss my Mom? 

She died in April, this is October.  She lived in Idaho, I in Texas.  Her mind and personality were no longer hers, because of dementia, so I was already missing her while she was still living.  I thought this would help me not to miss her so much when she died.  It doesn’t.

Somehow the years that her mind wasn’t working are not the years that I remember.   It is like they were erased the day she went to heaven.  Even if they weren’t erased, though, it is the sense of her being here that I miss.  She was always, always my champion.  Though she didn’t always agree with me, she was always there for me.  Even though we lived many states away from one another, I knew she was there.  I could pick up the phone and she was there.  After I taught her (by phone) to use the computer, email was another wonderful way to keep in touch during the day.

She learned to use the computer when she was seventy seven years old.  I was so proud of her.  I laugh even now as I think of this patient woman phoning me and saying in total exasperation, “Judy, I am going to throw this thing into the street!”  It was so out of character for her and surprised me so much that I laughed…hard.  She, of course, started laughing with me, but in between laughter she would gather up more mock exasperation and say, “I am serious, Judy, this thing makes me so mad!!”  Of course that would only send me into more fits of hysterics.

I miss her laughter because we laughed at the same things…a lot.  It was something we shared.  I miss the sound of her voice encouraging me or asking me questions to make me think about where I might be wrong.  I miss talking about spiritual principles with her.

And though this memory is from when I was probably eighteen years old, I can still hear her say, “Come on, Jude, let’s go sit out back.” I miss moments with her like sitting together on the back steps.  I still see her shading her eyes from the sun and feel it touching our shoulders with gentle warmth. After a few minutes of basking, she would always say, “Oooh, doesn’t this feel good?!” As we sat looking across the neighbors’ rich green fields, we didn’t have to talk…or we could.  This was the way we were with one another.  We were connected and comfortable.  We had complete trust in our relationship.  I knew she was there for me and I think she knew that I was there for her, as much as I could be at eighteen.

I miss the sense of her being here.  I know she would be thinking of me, working out whatever concern I might have as though it was her own.  I always knew this because she would call me later, remembering something that was bothering me and say, “Judy, I was thinking about what you said and you know…I believe the Lord would want us to see it like this.”  From there she would give me a world of wisdom from her experience, prayers and God’s word.

I hope she is still nearby watching, hoping, laughing when I laugh.  But most of all I hope she and Daddy are laughing together, enjoying full health and the presence of God himself.  I hope they are basking in heaven’s enhanced version of creation.  Nature was something they loved so much. 

In my mind’s eye, I can see them in heaven, waiting for me on the back porch, the sunshine gently touching their shoulders.  When they see me, they will scoot apart to make room.  Dad will look up at me, smile that gorgeous smile and laugh his hearty laugh.  He will pat the space between them letting me know this is where I should sit.  I will sit. Mom will be excited. 

After a minute she will say, “Ooooh Jude, doesn’t this feel good?!” 

Proverbs 31:25-28
Strength and dignity are her clothing,
and she laughs at the time to come.
26She opens her mouth with wisdom,
and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.
27She looks well to the ways of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28Her children rise up and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her: