There's a little white trailer on the corner of our street, nestled right where the bus stops for the children to come home after school. For the past two years, I've stood there waiting just about every weekday... wobbling there during my pregnancy with Norah, pushing her in her stroller as an infant, and recently just carrying her in my arms since she's about outgrown her buggy and we're usually running 'late' (which ends up still being ridiculously early most days).
I've seen the gentleman who lives there, but only in passing... a simple wave and a smile, followed by, "Thank you for letting me stand here to wait for the bus every day!" and a gentle nod in reply. We don't share the same first language.
Some days, I find myself waiting there for half an hour or more before the bus comes... others, it's mere minutes... but there's no telling which it will be on any given day. And holding a squirming toddler-sized-infant can get quite cumbersome after a while... even as a mom (I know we're thought to have superpowers, but that one must've eluded me).
The wait can be exhausting sometimes though... and when we get back home, my arms often feel like melted Jello... but I can't complain. And wouldn't. After all, I could just drive the car down instead... but the fresh air sure is nice. The walk is nice too. And Norah likes to point, babble, and look at the scenery as we make our way down the street. 100% worth it.
Today, as we approached the tree we usually stand beneath, I noticed something else already waiting there. As we made our way closer, the details came into view... it was a simple handcrafted wooden stool chained to the tree so it couldn't get mistaken for roadside pickings and hauled away. And it was there for me.
No words exchanged... just a simple gesture in a neighbor's absence... from one person to another, as if to say, "I see you and I can help." I'm overwhelmed with gratitude.
God is good and people aren't all bad either. Thanks for the reminder.
Dear Mom,
She can hear me now. I can feel her moving around throughout the day like a reassuring hug as if to say, "I'm here, too."
Life.
Hers.
Not even born yet, but still very much alive.
We both stayed by your bedside for those final hours on this side of eternity.
Room 1414.
I wonder if she heard the resonance of the songs we sang to you.
I wonder if you heard me whisper her name in your ear. "Norah Jane".
Norah ... "full of light and wisdom". Brightness in the middle of darkness. And she is.
Jane means "God is merciful and gracious". And He is... even when the reasoning surpasses my own understanding. But to me, "Jane" also represents the strongest most selfless woman I've ever known. You.
I can't help but to feel the gravity.
She isn't born yet but was still by your side when you were called away. I wonder if she felt my heart sink as I watched yours beat its last. Did she hear the echoes of mourning as the doctor came into the room to announce your time of death? Could she sense the angels rejoicing at your Heavenly birth?
Light in the presence of darkness.
I know that you loved her already, but your absence from the rest of this journey still aches.
We miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
One of my Mom’s favorite songs to sing on a sunny day. George was always her favorite Beatle.
Kaleidoscopic Grace 