It has been 5 weeks since my mom died and I miss the phone calls.
I had called mom every night at 6:50 p.m. for almost 9 years. Sometimes we would talk for 10 minutes and sometimes we would talk for an hour–it depended upon what was going on in our lives. One of the things about it was that I got to tell her every night that I loved her and she told me that she loved me.
Now, I look at the clock and my heart is sad because I know exactly what I would have told her last night.
For instance, I tried to have a joke or two for her once in a while and she would pretend to think they were funny. Last night I would have told her about Moses the Parrot and Jesus the Rottweiler. (old joke but still fun.) She would have laughed and then reminded me that she wouldn’t remember it to tell anyone else.
I would have told her how I cried on Sunday when they sang “Don’t be Afraid,” because that is what was sung at her funeral Mass.
We probably wouldn’t have talked too much longer than 7, because that is my hour for Adoration, so as I was going into church she would remind me to pray for her and I would tell her, as I did every Monday evening, that I always do and not just on Monday night.
Now, I pray for the repose of her soul, waiting for when my mourning will be turned into gladness.