On Easter Monday, my mother was resurrected. Finally, she has that peace that surpasses all of our imaginations and understandings.
Meanwhile, my heart is broken wide. I know that God’s peace is near— but for me, for now, it’s a spiritual concept, not a feeling.
After our long days and nights of the vigil of withedness as Mother moved from this life to the next, after sorting through a few matters, I came home for a few days to rest.
I’m not crying much yet—probably, as the big sister, the priest expert, and will executor, my head is too full. I can feel those tears stuffed in my chest. I know they will break through.
On my plane ride home from Dallas, the first tears broke through. I had made a playlist of music that had been a comfort, and hands over my face, turned towards the window, finally, I wept.
At church on Sunday, going to receive Eucharist, with the cloud of witnesses in heaven and on earth , the tears broke through again. The kindness of the leadership made it safe to simply be.
I’m on a quick flight back to Dallas again. My brothers and I will meet with the lawyers, will make final plans for my mother’s burial, and pick up Mother’s cremains.
Steps towards opening my heart to peace.
House of Grace 