This was written 3 years before my mother passed away. She suffered greatly from dementia for approximately 10 years as we lost her little by little. I held her hand as she took her last breath on earth, and although I miss her being here, I know she is whole again and in the arms of our Savior.
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My sweet Momma, I’ve missed you for so long! I miss your quick wit and protective hand. I miss your laughter and the hymns we sang together in the kitchen while cooking dinner: I’ll Fly Away, What a Friend we Have in Jesus, When the Roll is Called Up Yonder and so many more. I miss the stories of you and your brothers running barefoot on the mountains in your youth. You giggled every time you told about knocking one of your six brothers out with a perfectly placed uppercut to the jaw, and how as kids you helped Grandma put a wax shine on the hardwood floor by pulling her across it on a blanket while you all laughed so hard you cried. The time your ornery brothers talked you into holding onto a bent tree branch while they let go, flinging you high up into the air, and when neighbors would come over to sing and play music while your momma and daddy made doughnuts that were sweet and hot and wonderful.
My hands look like yours did, years ago when you would brush my hair out of my eyes and tell me it was a wonder I could see anything out of my filthy glasses and “Give them here and let me clean them.”
I miss your wise words that were always sound and comforting, and always challenging me to seek the Lord in prayer. Strangely, I miss your handwriting. I saw it so many places, in notes and letters, in poems you wrote for friends, and in the beautiful notations you left in your Bible.
You never thought you were pretty, momma, but every inch of your face was lovely to me and the way your green eyes sparkled with joy when you watched your grandchildren play made you the most beautiful woman in my life. You are still beautiful, mom. Only now your green eyes are worried and confused and I miss who you were but I am so blessed to still be able to hug you and hold your hand. And we have begun our long goodbye, it started years ago and I didn’t want to see you slipping away, but you did, you are.
I miss you as I sit and hold your hand and talk about the same thing. And later we will talk about it again and we will laugh every time, and I love that. I love you. And I will cherish our new memories and I will do my best to remember the old ones, like the time we sang “I’ll Meet You in the Morning” together at Trinity Church, and the way we got so tickled during revival once we embarrassed ourselves because we started giggling and just.could.not.stop.
But I know beyond a doubt that someday when I meet you in the morning by the bright riverside, our long goodbye will turn into an eternal hello! Until then I will accept what you have left to give in this life, and I will not let today destroy my sweet memories of you. You are a wonderful mother: yesterday, today, and forever.
Alabaster Jar 