Dear Mom

I'm thinking of you tonight, mom. Actually, it's not too often that thoughts of you aren't hovering somewhere in the back of my mind! I think of you most often when I'm doing things I would have usually told you about - things like baking for the school auction, making apple pie filling, washing windows and cleaning lights, advice on the child's hurt toe and children's quotes and escapades......

Then there's the fact that daddy is coming next week. I can't wait to have him around! To see him have a chance to interact with my little people, a chance to get to know them better and be a part of their lives and a chance to have him check out my ailing sewing machine and anything else I can think of that needs fixing! ;) Everytime I stop and think about it too much though, a painful lump fills my throat. You won't be here, mom, and how I would love to have you!

Daddy could go off and work on the car Mark wants him to help with and we would sit here and talk and talk and talk. You would wash my dishes and read stories and play games with Lillian and get to know Charles...... how you would love to hear him sing! You would want to hear Jasmine play the piano and ask Isaac about his memory work for the Quiz Team and listen to Jennifer read. Yes, how I would love to have you here!

But there's another reason I'm thinking about you tonight, mom. Somewhere tonight there's an Aunt of mine who is breathing her last breaths - or, at best, living her last days. After years and years of battling an incurable disease that slowly but surely left her able to do less and less for herself, her battle is reaching it's close. A month ago we thought it was time, and now here her family is again gathering around and waiting.

I know she was an inspiration to you, mom. I know you admired the grace with which she accepted the changes that continued to come her way. I think it was partly because of her that you found the courage to accept your own "handicaps" with grace.

And so, tonight, as I think about it all, I can't help but be glad that God spared you the slow, painful process of losing your abilities. I can't help but recognize the beauty in the quiet, peaceful way He chose to call you Home. I miss you, mom. And, while I would love to have you here next week, I have to remember that I am so glad I know you are There!

Love, Bethany