Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

I was walking down the street today. Specifically, a street in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. A part of the area I had yet to walk. I was with a friend and largely caught up in our conversation as we walked the blocks from where we stopped for lunch to this coffee shop where we parked for Wi-Fi and (of course) an afternoon cup of joe.

While walking we passed plenty of fellow pedestrians, equally caught up in conversations with their own companions. A couple of these caught my eye. Women looking to be about your age, walking with whom I could only assume to be their daughter(s).

It reminded me of you. And the street we were on reminded me particularly of Dad’s recent brief visit into the city for dinner with me. He was working in Long Island, and had the opportunity that Saturday night to meet me in the UWS, park, and walk along Columbus Ave until we found a good Mediterranean restaurant. After dinner, we walked further down the street, before crossing over to Broadway and grabbing some froyo to-go as we continued on down Broadway toward where I stayed when I first arrived in NYC. We talked as we walked the whole time, but he also would pause mid-sentence to ask about the area we were walking through. I loved being tour-guide, sharing my love for this city and her quirks. Finally, we turned and walked the busy Saturday-night sidewalks of Columbus Ave the twenty blocks back to his parked car. I got a “free Uber” home from Dad, and he headed back to his site.

Seeing the woman and daughter walking and remembering the sweet time with Dad had me in a moment of missing you. Wishing I could do the same with you. (I would never trade that sweet time with Dad and greatly look forward to future times of sharing my city with him.) I wish we could adventure through the historical areas of NYC and the different museums. I remember when I went to the 9-11 Memorial Museum for the first time thinking of how much you would have loved it. We would have had the best time, as I know you would have read through everything, just as much as I did.

I think you would also have maybe been a little distracted by all of the things. Trying to take it all in, and maybe lead the way even if you didn’t always know where to go. You were always just ready to go. Perhaps, if you stayed for a whole weekend, we may both have been ready to part ways for a bit. (That’s one thing about city-living: you can often get tired of living practically on top of people.)

One of the hardest parts are the moments of missed memories. No, not really “missed” per say — that is, this wishing is for something simply not in God’s plan for our lives here on earth. It wasn’t missed; these are simply wishes for what was to interpose what is.

Anyway, I miss you, Mom. Not with as much pain as before, but perhaps just as often. The great blessing is that every moment of missing you reminds me of what I look forward to: eternity with God, our Creator, our Savior, our Lord, our Spirit. And for that, this life is well worth living.

Your daughter,
Hannah