The past week or so has been a whirlwind of activity with holiday events and work activities (sometimes with the two rolled up into one), filling up my days…and evenings…and early mornings. Fun? You bet. But even the excitement of celebrating professional successes and spending time with friends I adore can make this girl tired physically and mentally. I know I’m not alone and lots of us need down-time to recharge. That recharging is happening right this moment, surrounded by sleeping doggies, blankets, and a snoring husband…and it makes me happy!
In the midst of all the hustle and bustle, I’ve found myself missing Mom. I always miss her. But these days, a year and a half after she left this earth, it’s a new part of the grieving process for me. I’ve felt the acute, sharp pain of her absence morph over time into the “simple” missing of my best friend. For so long, when I dreamed of Mom, she was still sick. “My Rosie” (grief counselor extraordinaire) explained that, since Mom was sick for so long, it’s not uncommon for it to take time to “unwind” my dreams. This might take a really, really long time because I rarely dream of Mom. I’ve wished for the dreams, prayed for the dreams, but they rarely come.
Besides dreams, I’ve heard about people feeling their lost loved one’s presence in a very real way. Inside my heart, Mom is ever-present. However, with the exception of seeing her reflection in a window shortly after she went to heaven, my “outside the heart” experiences have been limited to fleeting and vague feelings of her being with me. Precious, but passing, moments.
Then, when I least expected it, I felt Mom’s sweet breath on my cheek while I was busy getting myself ready for a Christmas party last week. Pandora had brought back intense memories when a favorite of mine, “The Way You Look Tonight,” started playing. It took me back to my parents’ first dance during their 50th Anniversary celebration in our back yard four years ago. In front of 70 people, moments after renewing their vows, they danced and looked at each other with the steadfast love we’d all seen over the decades.
I was startled from the reverie when I felt a breathy puff of air on my cheek and a feeling of something—someone–up against me. I looked up; was the overhead fan on? No. Darren must have slipped up behind me? No, he was still in the other room selecting music for the evening.
Finally, she had come. She came to see me, hug me, and to give me a soft kiss on the cheek.
A hug and a kiss I will carry with me forever.
Have you felt the presence of your lost loved one? I’d love to hear about it!