” I watched the little preschoolers today,” my mother told me on the phone. I listened to her description of preschoolers outside, running on the playground, and found myself wondering about her state of mind. Where was a playground located? How could she see preschoolers when she was in a community of elderly people?
However, I discovered she was right. A preschool could be seen from her patio doors. On certain days of the week, the playground was dotted with small children, clad in winter gear.
For some reason, I thought of this phone call yesterday, watching elementary students, also clad in winter gear, enjoying the snow in different ways. Tears filled my eyes and I found myself surprised. Am I really crying again?
I felt myself drawn to the cemetery again, wanting to see my mother’s gravesite covered in snow. Why? I don’t know and cannot explain it, but I felt the need. More tears were shed as I etched the letter “M” atop her gravesite.
I ended the afternoon with a phone call to my sister-in-law, checking in to see how her family was coping. Her comments of how glad she was that her father was no longer suffering once again reminded me of the eternal hope and joy my mother is experiencing. My sadness was replaced with peace.
A Journey Worth Remembering 