Today I am initiating this blog. How's that for an opening line? Not too exciting; but then, seeing as how I'm not publicizing this yet, I suppose it doesn't matter.
Today was a strange day, and that's just the best way to describe it. Today, 23.5 months after my mom's death, I watched her remains be buried. In those moments, standing in the quiet country cemetery, Yesterday Today and Tomorrow merged into one big well-up of emotion.
In the little box going into the ground was what's left of the physical body of Mom. And it symbolizes the memories of yesterdays--the hugs, the words, the smiles, the eyes. It also urges me toward the hope of a Tomorrow where she will be raised again and we will all meet Jesus in the air together.
And the grief of today has roots in yesterdays and tomorrows. Sadness over what I no longer have, and sadness of what I had hoped for and now cannot have, culminating in the sadness of not being with Mom today.
I gathered some wildflowers of the kind Mom liked and laid them on the little plot. She would have enjoyed the cool breeze fluttering the nearby eucalyptus leaves, and would have delighted in the songs of the meadowlark and mourning dove. Yes, a mourning dove sang its song while we watched the hole fill with dirt.
So, today was another kind of goodbye, but I have hope for Tomorrow's hello.
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