Mom

I miss my Mom. It has been two years since my sweet Momma Bear passed away. I find that so hard to get my head around but when I look back, so much has happened since she went to be with Jesus.

Yesterday Amanda and the children went with Dad and me to Mom's gravesite in London. We met my sister and my niece there, too. It was a gloriously sunny day, although it had originally been forecast to rain. Thank you Lord.

We spent a little while there, reminiscing, adorning her grave with a rainbow of flowers, making sure there were hints of purple displayed - her favourite colour, and just generally participating in a bittersweet time of remembering Mom.

I keep thinking how grateful I am that Mom wasn't there as I went through my chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. She always fussed over me as I fussed over her! "Take care of yourself! You're doing too much! Make sure you rest!" All words of wisdom from Mom, which I would give anything to hear once again.

But alas, life takes pathways that I knew one day would happen, yet for some reason I was ill-prepared. Perhaps it was a refusal to believe that my mom would die. A little girl feeling.

I recall one frightening night when living in Scotland. I was lying in the top of my double bunk. It was four hours after a train had hit some workmen on a railroad behind our home. There had been a mixup in communications and a switch had not been thrown that should have been. The terrifying memory still reverberates in my mind. The thunderous roar of the train. The horrific screams of the men. The frantic moments as Mom rushed out and performed CPR on the bleeding victim. Three men were killed that night and, although, Mom yelled at us to stay inside - we heard the wails and moans through the open windows.

Hours later, when the emergency personnel had done their jobs, the eerie quietness filled my ears and my first experience with death pervaded my mind. I was eight years old.

I remember crying myself to sleep that night asking, begging, pleading with God to not let my parents die. I thought I had made a pact with God that they would live forever. As the years passed and as I saw Mom's coffin being slowly lowered into the ground on July 20th, 2007, I watched the grandchildren and great grandchildren toss flowers into where Mom's remains would rest. I suddenly recalled that promise-making moment so many years ago -that pact; and in a fleeting childlike emotion, I was angry with God for breaking his part of our bargain. But then I looked heavenward and I remembered how God never breaks a promise. What he really said that day, some forty some odd years ago, was that He would always be with me; He would never leave me nor forsake me; He would bear all my burdens, carry all my sorrows and love me without condition.

I've still got my Dad here and I try to treasure the moments with him. That I consider a privilege and I thank God that Dad will be with us for a long time to come.

Thank you Jesus for preparing my heart and receiving Mom's soul. And thank you Mom for teaching me my very first prayer that night so long ago..."May four good angels guard my bed. Two at the foot, two at the head. And keep me safe all through the night until I see the morning light...Amen...