Been thinking about her this morning, as I come up on her death's anniversary. It was a Thursday,(actually, the tenth six years ago-hmm) weather very similar to this morning when we thought she was going back to the nursing home. "I'm going today?" she asked the doctor.
"Where are you going?" he asked her.
"Heaven, I hope," she quipped back.
Her condition deteriorated, as she told Dan and I how to have her funeral.
"Call Myltreda for the funeral dinner," she directed from her hospital bed.
"Mollie, the dress I want to wear, that I wore to Michelle's wedding, is in your closet."
How she remembered that, I have a clue. I inherited her uncanny memory. I try not to dwell on hurts like she sometimes did.
Four days later, she did go to Heaven. Dan called at six fifty on a Sunday morning. The rain poured, like Heaven was crying for me. Then the evening cleared and I danced at the Park, as her suffering was over. Dad asked Jesus to bring her home ten days before his birthday, as eighteen years was long enough. He hated to be away from her, always.
No melancholy. Mom lived a good life. She had a wonderful love with Dad. And she is with him again. I appreciate all of her.
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