From January 2019.
A thought stabs up, ripping through me.
It’s really going to happen.
I’ve never pretended that my mother wasn’t going to die from this. From cancer. From creation gone wild. But it’s closer now than I ever imagined it being. Funny how you can know something for so long and still not be able to do a thing to prepare for it.
She won’t see her flowers bloom this spring. It’s hard to know if she’ll even see another Saturday. She won’t see my kids get married, or the littlest kids grow up. She won’t go to the grocery store, or Tobermory – she won’t pay the bills, or call me. Ever again.
These earthly things fill me up like a silent scream.
And yet.
And yet, she will be there. I know she will.
She spent the first Saturday of 2019 surrounded by all the love of her life, sharing everything on her heart with us. It was the gift of a lifetime. Of hers. And maybe ours too.
There is life before death.
MeaningMaker 