I Miss My Mother


I miss my mother.

Not the pained days and her lonely, disorienting moments,
not the frontal lobe disintegration that turned a stable woman of integrity into a silly, flirting schoolgirl,
not the numbness and loss of dexterity that stole the pleasure of creativity from her busy fingers.

I miss the laughter, the sneaky tricks, the Scrabble games at midnight. I miss the hint of mischief behind those blue eyes. She saw it so clearly in us because it was self-diagnosis.

I miss her dedication to home and family that gifted us with pies and cookies, doilies and quilts, music and ministry, prayers by the bed, and testimony in every routine act of living.

Discipline was not always pleasant, but forgiveness was metered out with hugs and affirmations. When I finally got caught stealing Daddy’s pocket change and hoarding it under my mattress in an old condom box, I got the just talking to, but my repayment plan was probably a third of what I stole and so much less than what I deserved. Perhaps part of my debt was paid in the moments of laughter behind her hand.

I miss her full mind, her surety, her security in faith tested. If she ever doubted, her passion and love for the lost washed over any questions she may have had.

I miss her determination to press on through bad memories and disappointments, betrayals and sorrows.

Her commitment to work in the church and community, to pour her energies out to bring along the weaker and the worn, kept her going past her physical strength and only faded with her fading mind.

On that day, your spirit soared as I flew homeward, and I like to think I met you in the air as you left this hard place, though whether heaven is up, down, or sideways, I don’t know; but I know
you are surely there, as surely as life has gone on.

There are some days in this topsy-turvy world,
I really miss my mother.


4 thoughts on “I Miss My Mother

  1. muse4me

    You have written beautiful prose of such an endearing longing. This connection with our mother is so mysterious. We lived in the active pleasure of their sacrifices for us: the meals, the laundry, the cleaning, the scrimping to secretly save for that something we wanted.

    I rather miss my mother’s flirty self that emerged during her mid stages of Alzheimer’s. She was so disciplined in life that this side of her was refreshing. She would wink and wave at handsome men in the park or the handsome paramedics transporting her. I found her uncensored self so charming. She was so carefree and joyful about it. That was not her normal demeanor.

    Now is the time to start writing a book about memories of your mom and growing up on the farm. They will soon fade and your grandchildren deserve to know more about their grandparents and great grandparents. You are a wonderful writer.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Carolyn

    Lilly this is so beautiful. Takes me back to our old writer group days of composing our experiences in careful words to catch and convey the stories of our hearts! Well done.

    Liked by 1 person

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