365 Days

It has been 365 days since I've seen my Mema or heard her voice.

I knew this day was coming. That's how time works. Days just pass and heap up into a big pile before you know it. Up until this day, I could still say, "Even a year ago, I had no idea she would be gone." And it's true. I never had any doubt that she was coming out of that hospital. She went there to get better, not to die. But that's what happened.

I'm not angry, but God and I have had some pretty heated discussions this year. I've just had a lot of questions. And while I haven't received all the answers, one thing has become very clear to me. God is not upset by my questions. In fact, I feel like He's welcomed them because they cause me to have a deep need for time with Him. God is not threatened by your questions either.

A few nights ago, I had a dream. In it, I was in my kitchen, getting ice water for some people outside. I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, walking through the dining room. I looked up and it was her. It was Mema! I was so excited. "You're here!" I said. "What are you doing here?" I was jumping up and down. She said, "Well, I come to see you, Sis." I told her I missed her so much. She said, "I just wanted to tell ya that I know how much you love me. I know you bring the kids to see me sometimes (In the dream, I understood this to mean when we visit the cemetery). I just want ya to know, I'm alright." I said, "I know you're alright, Mema. I just miss you so much. Can you stay?" She said, "I cain't stay very long, Sis." I told her I was just getting water for those people if she could just stay a few more minutes, but then I woke up.

I don't know if people can really visit you in your dreams or if my brain was working overtime, thinking about the coming week, but I know it brought me a lot of comfort. I've known all along that she's alright, but somehow hearing it from her made all the difference.

So, today, though there have been some tears, I'm choosing to remember the best and funniest things about her. I'm looking at photos. I'm having lots of sweets because she loved them. I'm drinking Dr. Pepper. But I'm not asking any questions because I know she's alright.

Every March 22nd From Now On

I missed your birthday.

I guess I thought if I didn't acknowledge it, it wouldn't come.

But it did. It came and you weren't here to celebrate.

I'm sorry I couldn't call or stop by to sing a sloppy version of the birthday song with my crew. I'm sorry there was no cake from Ann's, shared by all the people you love most. I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to drive by the cemetery, even days later. But most of all, I'm sorry I miss you so much because Heaven must be beautiful and it's completely unfair for me to want you here.

Still, I do.

I miss you every day, but especially on every March 22nd from now on.