Thoughts while watching a daughter grieve

It’s hard to lose a mother.
She’s gone
you’ve lost the home base you took for granted.
She’s gone
you’ve lost protection from life’s winds.
Your world will be more easily rocked
more easily drained
more easily destitute.
Who else will listen to your life’s trivia
and care as deeply?
Who else’s wry comment
stops life’s spinning and
right’s your upside downs?
Who else cares as much when you

are sick?
are tired?
are scared?
are petty?
are selfish?
are alone?

I’m grateful for the Mom hole shaped in me
Through her investment
of time
(how was your day?)
thought
(cards and streamers for birthday breakfasts)
events
(Epiphany Open House)
and affirmation
(You are striking, daughter; I love your sense of style.)
Our paltry returns slim comfort for her pains
(did you remember today is my birthday?)
She set aside her life
(Dean of Women, Masters in Theology, Director of Drama, Writing)
to nurture ours
(fresh bread after school, daily dinner sacrament)

She made us feel worth it
And worthwhile.
I’ve grown accustomed to the hole
But still
I miss you, Mom.