All my friends who have lost a mother agree. There is really no “getting over” it. I find a use for one of her bowls and I want to tell her about it. Sometimes I even reach for the phone. Oh yeah. I can’t call her anymore. I scroll through my photos and I’m reminded of her funeral. Our house is scattered with memories of her. Good memories.
I am not saddened when I think of her (although I do miss her and have moments of sadness). I am glad for the sense of adventure she put in me. Every obstacle was seen as a challenge – not a stopping point. I am thankful God gave her a passion for lost people. It presses me to carry out her legacy.
After my brother and I went through her house, pulled all the sentimental items and designated things she had left for various family and friends, her home was still full of life. Furniture, dishes, and knick knacks that we had no room for, and would have little or no sentimental value to those around. Yet they would be of value to someone! (One’s woman junk…a treasure for someone!) So I called up the pastor of her church and offered it to them as a donation. They could have whatever was left, sell it, and use the money for the youth. She would have wanted that. She would have wanted to give them whatever she had as an offering. She loved working with the youth, and loved her church. They happily accepted, and now her house is vacant. The sale will be in October.
We all felt good about this decision, and were so thankful her “precious” things could be put to some good use. Closure…
I only wish I could call and tell her.
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À la prochaine (Until next time) …