mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and
being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the
Recently on my FaceBook profile, I wrote in my status that I wished we could talk about that which we most feared. I wrote this because lately I have wanted to talk to people about death, even their own, but haven’t felt that it is socially acceptable. Who am I even to feel I have the right to ask them about what might very well be their greatest fear?
But if we can’t speak truthfully and honestly to each other, what right have we to call each other friends?
I hope that I never let that opportunity to pass me by again. I hope I have the strength to put what is most important first because it hurts to feel that I didn’t say what I was led to say, that I stifled a responsibility — even if it’s just known between God and me. May I be so open not just with friends but with my own family as well. I must teach by example radical love, a lovingkindness that will leave an impression unmistakable, unforgettable, yet so subtle as to be felt without words and blatancy.
We do not know the number of our days. We may not know until the very end when our work here is done. In that simple knowledge, we live our lives. In that knowledge, we trust that every moment we share is significant, that we have work to do, even if it’s just offering a smile of maternal love, an assurance to a friend, or accepting that we do not know but surrendering ourselves to that which is Good.
May Wendy‘s soul rest in peace, her love surround her husband and boys, friends and family.
The best conversations with mothers always take place in silence, when only the heart speaks.