Mom

I missed Mom today. 

I was sitting playing piano tonight, a few hymns, when I suddenly felt transported back in time to 1990-something. I smiled, remembering how Mom wouldn't pay for cable during most months of the year. "That's what the outdoors are for," she would say. "Or, read a book!" A librarian, she would always point me toward a book. While I was an avid reader, many indoor days I turned to music.

Oh how music allowed me to pray without words! Whereas in talking I could pour out the surface of my mind, in music I could pour out the depth of my spirit. I could play and pray a hymn. My fingers were an extension of my heart. I would sometimes have tears on the keys. 

Then I'd turn around, and there was Mom.

Crocheting a blanket in her rocking recliner. A lamp on next to her, the window to the porch behind her. She'd sometimes be humming along, sometimes oblivious to the fact I was in the room as her mind was  completely occupied, and sometimes she'd stop crocheting and almost softly ask me to play 'Annie's Song'. 

That was her and Dad's song. So I'd turn around and start playing again. I'd play like I would for a bridal procession, rich and full. Playing rubato, I'd build to a crescendo and then a subito piano to allow for a delicate and emotional conclusion. "Did you like it?" I'd ask. Then I'd turn around and see Mom, crochet work in her lap, tears rolling down her cheeks. My Dad had died when I was just months old, and she never remarried--never even went on a single date--because she loved Dad and Dad alone. He was the love of her life, she had said, and it showed every day that she missed him. 

So tonight, I played Annie's Song. Ebbing and flowing, I built to a crescendo, a subito piano finish, and then...I sat there. I couldn't turn around. I fully expected her to be sitting there, crochet in hand and a lamp by her side. Glasses halfway down her nose, half smile on her face, and tears in her eyes. I couldn't move. 

So I talked to her. "Did you like it?" I asked, just like I had for years while playing at home. Tears welled up and spilled over. "I've got a job now," I said, chuckling as the tears flowed. "I make money, so I hope you're happy about that." She had once told me to "just graduate and get a job to support yourself" as I changed majors for the third time. 

Then I apologized.

I didn't get to say sorry. She had just died that day--without my permission, without my consent, without my knowledge--she had just died. Only a few minutes before, I had seen her car pull in to pick up one of my nephews for church. I had turned away, wanting to avoid her asking me about going too (we had chosen to leave and attend another location). Within an hour, my brother came bursting in the door to tell me there was a wreck, they were hit by a drunk driver, that Mom didn't make it, and my nephew was on his way to UK via a Life Flight. 

Within a week, I saw Mom's body for the last time as we said goodbye and they closed the casket. 

I told her I was sorry tonight. I hope she heard me. I hope I'm not a disappointment. I hope she's happy, at home with Dad and the Lord. I hope she's singing on key (finally,) clapping on 2 & 4, and has all her teeth again (inside joke). I hope she's holding on to Dad every day and I hope she sees my babies that she never got to meet but prayed for each day. 

And I hope she loved Annie's Song tonight. 

Love you, Mom. Missing you hard.