Thanksgiving

Yesterday, in the grocery store, I recognized within myself an overwhelming sense of contentment. I was fresh off of a flight into California that had been majestic - an incredible view of snow covered mountains peeking out from a brilliantly white cloud cover. It was a glmpse into eternity that convinces you that God is real and that our lives are sustained by a loving creator.

So as I was walking through the frozen foods, tyring to select a pie for dessert (bakers we are not!) my life just seemed right. The family was gathering; we are healthy; the weather was great.

And yet, within that contentment was a void - a space - that Molly should have been filling. Checking out the frozen dessert, I was overwhelmed with a sense that Molly would make the moment complete. And on the heels of that thought hovered the second one - unbidden - reminding my that I will never again feel the completeness that Molly made possible. She would have told us not to bother about dessert - I bought a pecan pie anyway.

And then the night. I am middle aged enough to have troubles sleeping on a somewhat cyclical basis. Ugh. The day had been wonderful; Thanksgiving was coming. But the sleep would not come, and all night Molly's death haunted me.

As much as I might try to leave her life in God's hands, I am still a mom with a hole in my very soul that will never again be filled.

The beauty of my flight into California could not help but remind me that life is more than we understand; that life beyond death is not as distant as we might imagine. And I may have felt Molly's presence primarily through her absence this holiday, but she has been here. She has been here.