Saturday marked the one-year point of losing mom. I couldn’t believe how quickly it went by. In some ways, it seems like a couple months ago since she died. Memories of her are still so tangible that I still feel like she is just away on a trip, and that I will see her any day again. I see her sitting in her favorite chair, blowing her nose, preparing food in the kitchen (she loved to cook), and laughing over a cutthroat game of two-handed pinochle. Death is still hard for me to grasp. But thankfully, it is not final. It is sleep. It is rest from toil. It is awaiting resurrection and glory. It demands hope.
On Saturday, the wild roses came out in our yard. They are so glorious, their scent so heavenly—they are a tangible reminder of resurrection. I went out in the yard and stared at (and sniffed) the roses for several minutes, allowing myself to bask in the future joy of resurrection for mom…and for all of us.
All of this reminded me to look back in my journal this year to recall what happened on mom’s birthday—another reminder of resurrection. Mom’s birthday is January 10, the dead of winter. I recorded the following in my prayer journal on her birthday this year:
I had a dream today during a nap, and in my dream, it was the dead of winter (much like it is today). I went outside and all of the sudden, all of these glorious butterflies began hatching and fluttering about—hundreds of them. They were larger versions of the butterflies we are familiar with—swallowtails, monarchs, and even the vivid blue ones. In my dream, I was filled with peace, the kind of peace that only accompanies spiritual dreams. I don’t know what the dream meant exactly, but it spoke of hope and new beginnings in spite of the harsh realities of this world.
May we bask today in the hope of resurrection, and the memory of loved ones lost.