When I opened my eyes after feeling James start to stir beside me, I rolled away from him and grabbed my phone. I clicked into iTunes, which has a song that has become very meaningful to me since last September.
Up until this morning, I hadn't played this song even once since I sang the chorus to my mom on her deathbed.
With a deep, calming breath, I pressed "play."
"Here's to you, Mrs. Montgomery,
Jesus loves you more than you will know..."
I wanted to sing it softly, replacing Robinson with my mom's surname that night or two before she passed away. She really liked me singing that song to her. But I couldn't sing, because I was crying.
I miss her so much. I still can't listen to the voicemails saved on my phone. It still hurts too much. I can still picture how innocent and childlike she appeared curled on her side, finally without pain and without struggling to breathe. She was wearing a soft pink nightgown, and her hair curled against the side of her face, making her look like a young woman from the Swinging '20's or 30's.
I cling to the positive responses she gave me as I asked if she was okay, and if she was at peace, and if she was ready to reunite with dad, and grammy, and grampa. She told me yes. I got to say goodbye to her, and that may be the greatest blessing God has ever bestowed on me, besides my children.
And I take great comfort in the fact that my mom knows just how much Jesus loves her now that she's in His comforting presence.
Mom, I miss you so much. You know how much I avoided hugs as a weird child you didn't quite understand, but right now, I just want to hug you forever.
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