Putting this on my blog may seem a bit strange, but for some reason it is comforting knowing someone will probably read this...

Dear Mom,

I miss you. More than word can say, more than tears, more than deep cries- I miss you in this dark, desolate, empty sort of way. Like a void, an empty, vast void- that only your presence can fill. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

Your eyes. Your smell. The soft skin of your cheek next to mine. Your weathered hands; hands that diapered little bottoms, soothed crying faces, prayed and worshiped, and fed your family. I miss your life, Mom. Your voice. I miss pulling in the driveway to see you knee deep gardening, working in the yard, breathing the fresh air and soaking in the sun.

I miss you greeting little SamSam, how you'd stretch your arms out so wide, scoop him up, snuggle him tight and make him laugh. I miss how you loved him, how you loved being Granmom. How you treasured life.

I don't understand why God didn't heal you. I know that God didn't take you, but sin took you and Christ saved you from death. I just wish he'd given you more life with us. It feels cruel, I'm sure it isn't, but how do I reconcile God's love and faithfulness with His lack of healing you? How is this God's best for you? These are the questions I am sitting on, Mom- you know what it's like to sit on questions, I remember.

If you were still alive, I'd like to think that I wouldn't take advantage of you- that I would treasure you more, love you better, and spend more time with you. Perhaps, if we'd just had a scare with your health- but you were healed, I would cherish you more. I'd walk with you in this beautiful Autumn weather; you'd love this Autumn- it has been breathtakingly colorful and the perfect "jeans and t-shirt" mild. We'd rake leaves, watch Sam play in them, and laugh over his 3 year old joy. We'd talk of God, what He is doing in our lives, what my future holds, and how I struggle to trust Him, and you'd remind me that He is faithful and loves me. You might complain about Dad or something discouraging in your life, and I'd try to fix you, which wouldn't work. I'd like to picture you and Dad getting real help- facing the pain and dysfunction in the light, shame-free love of Christ. I'd like to picture you receiving great healing and transformation around the wounds you carried from your own childhood. I picture you free, Mom- beautifully, joyfully, serenely free. Abundant Life.

I love you,
Bethany Anne