Dear Mom,
You died today. Part of me wants today to last forever because I want to keep being inside a day in which you were breathing and here.
For you, maybe this day will last forever. You entered forever.
As I sat beside your hospice bed, I sang worship songs. The words were sharper somehow, with heaven so close. In between songs, I whispered, “Jesus, open your arms. Jesus, open your arms.” I wanted Him to be ready to catch you. To embrace you so fiercely. The hairs on my arms tingled.
I wasn’t there when you finally let go. Dad and Bryan and Nate were your loving witnesses.
Sometimes, God has been quiet in my life. But this week, He was loud.
Rainbows, compassionate nurses, tight-knit family, friends so very supportive, a gluten-free cheeseburger at just the right time, the book I “coincidentally” got from the library, Jeff’s steadiness, songs, visitors, gardens, and a castle.
Every corner, He shouted, “I am kind!!!!”
It’s hard to imagine life without you.
Who will commentate over the top of TV shows with Dad? Who will get our “Br” names mixed up? Who will share mildly inappropriate family stories with store clerks? Who will eat all the black licorice? Who will go for long walks with me?
You always adored Julie Andrews and the “Sound of Music”. I can see why. You two are a little alike.
Beautiful voices, always singing. Kind of kooky, open to oddball ideas. Loves your kids. Not afraid of a good hike. Committed to God and His desires for your life.
Thank you, for leading me in knowing our Savior.
Thank you for being an example of servant-love.
Thank you for being the voice in my head: “Tell yourself the truth, Brooke.”
The truth is, I am really blessed to call you my Mom. I will miss you terribly. And, I hope it’s okay that I’m going to talk to you out loud sometimes.
I’ll think of you when the lilacs bloom, when I snuggle my kids, and when I have a really good laugh.
The day is almost over, but you’re a part of me forever.
Love you so much,
Your daughter Brooke
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