In the twelve months since I got that awful phone call, I've been wondering what was so damned important up in heaven that God decided he needed my mom so immediately, without giving any of us a chance to say goodbye.
And the best thing I can come up with seems to make the most sense:
Heaven just didn't have enough quilts.
Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my mom's passing.
But I don't want to call it an anniversary; that label should be reserved for happier occasions. And for me, there's just not much happy about June 1st appearing on my calendar.
I'm dealing with such an odd mix of emotions.
There's a indescribable guilt that comes with the slow acceptance that she's gone.
The rawness of her absence doesn't hit me as often as it used to, but when it does, I end up as a blubbering mess. And I'm okay with that. Crying it out can be good for the soul.
But there's also emerging desire to overcome the melancholy emotions that arise whenever I think of her.
I don't want memories of my mom to be infected with the suffocating hurt when I remember the cruel suddenness of her death.
Those memories deserve a happier atmosphere.
So one year after my world was rocked so violently, I'm attempting to inject some positive vibes into the day. I'm gonna perform a random act of kindness in Mom's honor. I'm not sure what yet, but I'm gonna do something.
I invite anyone else out there to join me. No act is too small. :)
I'm pretty sure Mom won't be wasting her day in sadness. Nope, she's up there, quilting away, ready to wrap her love-sewn creations around everyone entering those pearly gates.
Heaven should easily have enough quilts now.