Evening Musing

I'm on the back patio. It is dark and peaceful, with a chill in the air. The beginnings of spring are on the gentle breeze, with the stars and moon shining a light that is crisp and full of promise.

Most all my personal quiet time alone is in the early morning, but tonight is a musing by twilight.

I have been surprised tonight by grief. It has come to me like a neglected friend, demanding some attention at last. Reminding me of times we have shared in the past and loved ones lost. My mother lives in heaven now, and has for 3 years and 73 days. During that time grief has visited me, but I have pushed him away and never let him stay. I would reminisce for a moment or two, occasionally agreeing that I was, indeed, sad in some way that I could no longer speak to her simply by hitting my speed dial, but I was unwilling to express the things my heart wanted and needed to say that were far more painful and profound than words can express.

Tonight, unexpectedly, my heart decided to give voice to some of those emotions I have so long denied. Don't know why, tonight seems no different than most other nights, except that it's Friday so I don't have to go to work in the morning (except that I really do, instead of my desk I will be doing taxes yet again, and again without pay for another really deserving family...)

I cannot say that I wept, to me that indicates a lot of tears. I did have some tears tonight, and not the first that I have shed for her. But tonight was the first time I told her I was sorry. I said I was sorry that I could not take care of her like I wanted to, and that I could not fix it, and that I could not be there like I wanted to, and that someone besides me had to take care of her, and a paid caregiver had to give her a bath instead of her own family, and finally at the end to feed her and do all the things that she could not do for herself. Not so much a weeping as a wailing. My ears were surprised at the raw emotion they heard, sensing the rend in my heart as I cried out I am sorry Momma, I am so sorry. Suddenly I felt like a little boy again, I have not felt tears on my cheeks in a very long time. I remember my momma would wipe my tears and kiss them away. I felt her gentle touch as the spring breeze kissed my wet cheeks, my heart heard her telling me, as she always did, that everything would be ok.

I am sorry, Momma, that I could not care for you as I wished. I am sorry that someone besides me and my family brushed your red hair. You know the commitments I had at the time. You know I did my best. I hear you saying you know, that it is all ok. I wish I could talk to you now, but I need to go inside. My own children look to me as I once looked to you, wanting to know they are loved and that everything will be ok.

"Blessed are they that mourn," Jesus said, "for they shall be comforted." My Savior is a man acquainted with grief. I do not know the way forward but he does. Perhaps that was a part of his pain on the cross, seeing his mother and having to ask another to care for her. Knowing He could not wrap his arms around her, arms that were nailed to His task much firmer than my own have ever been. Perhaps He took this pain, too, on that cross. This Man of Sorrows, He is my Shepherd. Let me take this comfort I have received tonight and share it with those in need.