I was checking a message on my phone today and somehow I ended up looking at little tiny pictures on my phone. I have some pictures of the retail store in Ogden, Utah, a tiny Presbyterian Church that I attended when I was there and Mom.
Mom getting her hair colored after her gallbladder surgery. She needed to have on her "Game Face" before we met George. Mom snuggled up in a warm blanket in the Chemo room in January. The ambulance drivers that brought her home from the hospital that Thursday. Mom's luminary from a couple of Saturdays ago.
I sat at my desk and cried yet again, surrounded by a wind up monkey, a magnet man and some little tiny Easter eggs from a few years ago. (Just know.. I know you guys got stuff.. but I got the BEST STUFF.)
It's almost 4 weeks (which is the magic number of weeks you are supposed to "grieve" according to all of the stupid books I have been reading), but I haven't gotten past the initial ouch.
I know it's okay, Mom's okay. God doesn't have to calm the sea, but if he could just calm the sailor for a while...
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