A fall morning

Some mornings I wake from my dreams and instantly miss my mom or dad so much. It doesn't happen as often as it used to, and it is seldom with the same intensity as in years past. But it is still like a jab to my gut.

I've been on a terrible migraine run, and I know after days and days of these bastards I'm sometimes a little off-kilter emotionally. I know they sometimes throw my mind a little out of whack and my perspective becomes skewed, and that might be all that's going on this morning, but my first thought as I awoke was,

I still need a mom.

Oh, how I miss her. I miss her listening ear. I miss her tender voice. I miss her wisdom. I miss her constantly God-centered perspective on life. I miss her unconditional acceptance of me. I miss her challenging me to think before speaking or acting. I miss her love.

I'm 43, so it seems strange (and somehow weak) to feel like I still need a mom, but this is probably something that even my 91-year-old friend thinks on occasion. I won't pine away for her, and I won't wallow in these sad feelings, but today I think it will leave a tenderness on my heart that will make it just a little harder to sing beautiful songs at church, fully enjoy this afternoon's time with friends, and focus on my upcoming week of editing and housework.

I'll do my best. I'll write in my journal a little, and maybe shed a few tears. I'll remember how much she loved me and how proud of me she would be. I know these things partly because my dad told me just that many times before he died. And he told me with passion and love and strength in his tone of voice and words. He really meant it. And his words are an anchor that helps hold me close to the truth of who I am.

Thanks, Dad, for affirming me, for loving me, for helping me feel Mom's love even after she was gone.

I love you both.