The Word
It's been more than a week now since my mother passed away. The wake and funeral are behind us. Closets have been cleaned, clothes sorted, papers boxed for another time. The Kleenex box is almost empty. This is not a good time to run out of tissues!
What I'm searching for, I realize, is not closure but continuance. How will Mom go on? I can save a few of her sweaters and dresses, plenty of photographs and other memorabilia — but what I want most are the words she's written.
Father Linh, who said Mom's funeral mass, wisely made the Word his theme. "In the beginning was the Word," he said. In the Word we find eternal life.
Mom started the Museum of the Written Word. She dealt with words all her life. She didn't write as many words as she had hoped. But she encouraged others to write them. One of them was me. I best get on with it.
What I'm searching for, I realize, is not closure but continuance. How will Mom go on? I can save a few of her sweaters and dresses, plenty of photographs and other memorabilia — but what I want most are the words she's written.
Father Linh, who said Mom's funeral mass, wisely made the Word his theme. "In the beginning was the Word," he said. In the Word we find eternal life.
Mom started the Museum of the Written Word. She dealt with words all her life. She didn't write as many words as she had hoped. But she encouraged others to write them. One of them was me. I best get on with it.
<< Home