For My Mom

Never more these floors her feet will grace.
Never more I'll greet her smiling face.
Never more she'll say "Well let's just pray".
Never more I'll tell her of my day.

Days go by, then months, now soon a year.
Not a day I don't wish she was here.

Jesus whispers to my soul "Be still."
"Twas time that she came home, it was My will."
Angry, lonely, scared, I fight His word.
"Perhaps", I think, "that isn't what I heard."

Deep inside I want to cry and rage.
Alone. Not on some type of stage.
God! Can you not see me? Don't you care?
Don't you know I need her here, not there?

If I could have her back for just one day
what is it I would want the most to say?

I'd say, of course, I love her. But what then?
What about my kids, now eight and ten?
What of all their days would I first share?
Would I say her loss I cannot bear?

But no! A day would never be enough!
I'd waste it, as before, and speak of fluff.

I need to have her here each time I cry.
I need her wisdom when I wonder "why?"
I need her understanding, miss her voice.
And yet, as days go by, I have no choice.

I must go on without her. I must try.
I'll give myself some time to sit and cry.
I have no answers, nothing yet but doubt
that I can rise above this, work it out.

Perhaps it helps to take up pad and pen.
I'll write my Mom a letter now and then.
I'll tell her all the things I long to say;
and maybe, when I put the pen away
I'll send the note to heaven with a kiss;
though yet her smile and voice I'll always miss.