Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I scrolled through social media seeing so many pictures of my friends wishing their mothers and being wished by family a blessed day … spending time with their families … getting flowers or gifts … smiling. I had an absolutely wonderful time with my own family. But there was something missing for me … my own mother.
It has been almost a year since my mother went to her heavenly home. It has been a year filled with struggles and heartaches and smiles and celebrations … each one of those holding a small hole that should have been filled with her presence. It has been a hard year without her kindness and guidance and love here in my life. I hear her words in my head. I feel her warmth in my heart. But I can’t hold her hand or look into her eyes anymore, and I miss that. I desperately miss that.
It’s Spring, and the warm weather is here. The flowers are blooming. My mother loved flowers. I smell lilacs when I walk through our neighborhood, and they remind me of her. Our backyard was lined with lilac bushes in the home where I grew up, and she loved to bring them into the house filling the rooms with their sweet aroma. She always thought daisies were so pretty, and I have a fake daisy in my office that makes me think of her. She helped me transplant some irises from her home to mine several years ago. They are blooming now, and every time I see them, they remind me of her. I know lots of different things remind people of loved ones that they’ve lost. For me, it’s my mother’s flowers that resonate the most. They are so beautiful but make missing her so tangible.
At my mother’s memorial service, we read from John 14:1-4 which Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
I know the way. I know that is where I will see my mother again, in all her heavenly glory. And I know all of that because she and my father raised me to know the Lord. She was a guiding light to teaching me that way. Abraham Lincoln once said, “All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my mother.” Those words echo within me every time I see one of her flowers or feel the small holes left in her absence in trials and celebrations. I only hope that my own children see the same light in me, a reflection of her.
My mother’s daughter,