House on the Rock

(Couldn’t pass up an opportunity to indulge some National Poetry Month shenanigans. I bring to you: an epistolary poem) 🙂

Mom,

I looked into the cabinets of my classroom yesterday. I found craft supplies you put in totes and shipped my way. Glitter glue, crayons and stickers stacked on the second shelf. You insisted on cleaning the basement that summer, even if you had to do it yourself. Did you know you were going to die? 

I scrolled through my phone photo album, thumbs swiping to sweet summer days. There are pictures of Pickleball, picnics, and poolside afternoons spent with you catching rays. You insisted we spend every weekend together. There were times it seemed a bit much, I won’t lie. But we did because we wanted to. Did you know you were going to die?

I flipped through the pages of your journal one day and found sermon notes from last spring. You wrote in curly cursive: “Jesus heals our suffering.” That season was full of goodness and ease — wedding showers, grad parties, walks in the breeze. It’s peculiar, in a season without pain, how that one line was the truth you obtained. Did you know you were going to die?

I watched the heart-wrenching beauty of Cam’s wedding video — the way he held our Nana’s hand as they swayed to and fro. I thought of the way you reached out to your Mom — you said, if I die, take my place for that song. You only had a cough back then, but it seemed as if you knew that was the beginning of the end. Did you know you were going to die? 

I gaze at the picture of our family by my bed. You dressed us in white like you did when we were kids. It was the hottest summer day, sweat like rivers down our backs. We posed for picture after picture despite humidity and gnats. Who cared that were wilting in the burning August sun — you said that those pictures had to be done. Did you know you were going to die? 

I reflect on the advice you shared with me about becoming a mom. You told me the foods to eat, the books to read, and how to pray when all things seemed wrong. You reminded me of the times I strayed — how God graciously brought me back home. You said that very same God will be with me and assured me I’m never alone. I wasn’t even pregnant then, but you made sure to get that counsel in. Did you know you were going to die?

Of course, there would have been no way of knowing your limited number of days. Though if anyone did, it’d surely be you — your discernment and suspicions always proved to be true. But our good God ordained every big and small endeavor, so that we have these moments to cling to forever. 

I can’t wait to hug you in Heaven!