All Her Days

Mom, faithful reader of my blog, told me once, “You write too much about breast cancer!” I know she would tell me now, “You write too much about my death!”

That may be true, Mom, and you, dear bloggy friends, are on the receiving end of all my angst-ridden posts.

You have been so comforting and supportive as I travel through the grieving process. I hope you continue to bear with me.

My Grandma Emma died before many of her grandchildren were born, but I know for a fact that all of her grandchildren will know her immediately when we see her in heaven. We have heard so many stories about her from our fathers and mothers, our aunts and uncles, that when we, too, are taken to our heavenly home, we will instantly recognize our loving Grandma.

Yes, this sounds way too schmaltzy, but I believe it with all my heart.

And so, another story about Mom, so that Lily and Emmy will recognize their Grandma in heaven.

Mom sang this song to me as a little girl, and I sing it to Emmy every night before bedtime:

Two little eyes to look to God,
Two little ears to hear his Word,
Two little feet to walk His way,
Hands to serve Him all the day.

Mom spent all her days praising God. If I were to write a list of all the ways Mom praised God from day to day, it would be a long, long list.

Last Sunday, I walked up to communion at our church, and burst into tears. Up at the railing, I knelt upon the cushions that Mom designed and helped to needlepoint. They begin with Alpha, and end with Omega. I wish I had pictures to show you the beautiful Bible stories on these cushions.

Mom also designed and made banners to praise God. At her funeral, Dad hung up all the banners she made for their latest church.

Mom shows the fruits of the Spirit on this banner. (Galatians 5:22) The Spirit gave Mom all of these gifts, and I pray that some day, I will receive these gifts as well.

I Need…

I need my mother to:

Tell me I’m a good mom;

Reassure me that I’m doing right by my daughters;

Help me with a favorite recipe;

Calm me when I’m angry with my husband;

Teach me how to knit;

Sing with my sisters and me;

Sew my baby another quilt;

Kiss me good night.

Damn you, Death.