Day 21

I am grateful for this hard day.

One year ago I lost my mom suddenly to a brain aneurysm. Just like *that* she was gone. It happened in the early morning. My dad was holding her, trying to offer comfort and compassion while she rocked herself gently on the bed in an effort to ease another stunning migraine. She suddenly went slack, and no one was ever able to revive her.

This year of firsts is one someone can relate to only by having gone through one. Each holiday, birthday, or anniversary was a reminder that there would be one less chair at the table, ,one less gift to give, one less voice to speak our names. It's hard to believe it's been a year already, but the fact that she is no longer in the intense pain she endured for years before gives us great relief and a large measure of gratitude. In an instant, she was healed...

I know I'm not unique in the sentiment that I miss my mom, my biggest fan, every single day, but to know that she is utterly at peace now in a place where there is no night is a huge counterweight. This day is hard, but it also overflowing with grace.

Thank You, Lord, for Your constant presence and faithful loving-kindness.

Day 10

I am grateful for dreams of my mom.

One of the tragic surprises about losing someone you love suddenly is the abrupt and utter silence. I no longer heard her voice in her own house. She was no longer calling out to someone from her chair in the dining room. My phone no longer showed her caller ID name.

My friend Betsy told me that I would have dreams of her and that she hoped I would find joy in them the same way she did after losing her mom. Oh, how I do! In most of them, makeup is perfect, her complexion flawless, and she is so happy. In some of them, she doesn't speak, but always I am staring at her, drinking in the vision of her and reveling in the fact that she's right here. When I wake up, I am flooded with the joy of having spent time with her. It might sound like I would relive afresh that sense of loss after realizing it was only a dream, that she really is gone forever from this world, but that's not how it is for me. I am relieved, as if given a short break from the daily, sometimes hourly, pressing knowledge of her absence.

I have had nine dreams of her so far. That's about one every five weeks or so. I write about them afterward so I can remember. As time passes, they will probably subside, as Betsy said she really doesn't dream about her mother anymore (it's been about 15 years). I'll have this written record of my short little reprieves with her, not to mention all the colorful memories of real times that I'll keep to hearten me.

Thank You, Lord, for these dreams and the joy they give me.

Day 8

I am grateful for Kev's mom.

Even though we don't see her more than three times a year max, and I don't talk to her often, I love that she's in our lives. Just knowing she's here is comforting. The beauty of her inner life is a light and balm amid the pain and sadness in this world. Having her in this world makes it a safer and saner place for me. I know that wherever she goes, she reveals Your love, Your nature, Your presence. She's a walking, talking, living testament to Your grace, generosity, and loving-kindness. She's the humblest, sweetest woman I have ever known, and she thoroughly blesses our lives. After I lost my mom, I told her I'd need her more than ever. Ever since then, she signs her emails to me, "Your mom." See? She's so wonderful!

Thank You, Lord, for Mom. xo