Faith & Roses

And so it begins. I’m simply loving this. Sitting here in the quiet of the morning, daylight streaming through Mom’s stained glass in my kitchen window; ‘Nanda, my [never had a cat before in my entire life] new roommate zealously working at her scratching post. I shake my head marveling. Precious, tangible memories of my childhood home, and the woman who kept those doors open and the coffee pumping there for 66 years. Dad’s St. Anthony statue on my windowsill, a beautiful table runner on the fine wooden table mom bought for me years ago. These “things” breathe life into me. They embrace me and give me warmth; a sense of belonging, safety and peace.

They are who and where I came from – the tribe I was born into.

I think of all the mighty moves of the Universe that I do not see. So much moving on another plane. I am sure and I am certain. And in this seemingly untethered, whirling Spirit I have unexpected feelings of security. Resting peacefully in the belief that it is not about my knowing, for what I need revealed always comes at perfect moments. Slices of time I have no control over. So much of what used to be my undoing has now become my haven.

Mom’s death is constantly in motion. I embrace all of the beauty in the “leaving.“ It blows my mind just how palpable the presence of the God of my understanding and the Universe were in and around her. I can hear myself repeating the question, “How long is this going to last?” What I thought went unanswered was playing out in the realm in which it all began… the spiritual. I see now that the question wasn’t really mine to ask because “all was well.”

Her last month, week, and days…I was simply present. That’s what stands out for me here and now. Simply bearing witness to the fluid close of a human life. It was a most beautiful thing to see. Not all angels have wings, and in those final days, Mom was surrounded by many. They ministered to Mom and me. They/we cried, talked, laughed … folks said goodbye. We were walking her home.

I dedicate these moments to you – my Mother, my friend, my advocate. My supporter, my encourager, my “road dawg,” my teacher.