Last week, Lane and a couple friends took a trip to the Big Horns for some snowmobiling in the mountains. While he was playing in powder, Lora and I had lots of girl time with the house to ourselves. Every once in a while, in between the coloring, giggling, and mastering all the toys (because she’s basically a teenager now - when do we fill out college applications?), Lora would stop what she was doing and search for Lane. She’d peek her little head around corners and into rooms saying ‘dada?’. She was trying to figure out just where that daddy of hers was hiding. 

These past two years since mom died have felt a lot like that for me. It’s as if mom is simply in the next room, just out of view. If I look hard enough, maybe I’d find her. If I call her name loud enough maybe she’d hear me. See me. Find me. Help me.

My heart lets out a tired cry in an empty room. 

Mama. 

February third marked two years since that sunny Saturday morning when mom left this earth to go take care of Norah. 

Two years since she asked to raise the blinds because she just wanted to see the sun.

Two years since she ate two little pieces of my freshly baked homemade bread - one with honey and one with melted butter - as her last meal. (I still don’t know if she was actually hungry, or if she was doing that mom thing where she ate the bread just because I made it for her)

Two years since family gathered in the house I grew up in, filling it with love as death took mom away one breath at a time. 

Over this past year, Lora has taken my motherhood and reshaped it, refined it — evolving my relationship with God through it and giving me a totally new perspective on my own relationship with my mother. 

There have been so many times where I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and call mom to ask her how to do something, tell her about little joys, cry with her in the hard moments, or to simply tell her thank you. 

To thank her for being patient and gracious. 
For teaching me to find the joy and beauty in the smallest of moments. 
For holding my heart tenderly in hers. 
For showing me Jesus. 

Mama, I miss you. 

Mothering a living child is uncharted territory that I had hoped to navigate with you as my guide. Learning how to mother Lora has turned a spotlight on your absence, but I’m beginning to discover that you were teaching me how to be a mother from the day I was born. 

Thank you for showing me how to let grace and kindness be the framework of my motherhood. 

Thank you for loving me with all of you. 

I am forever part of you, and you are forever part of me. 

I love you, mama. 

Squeeze my baby girl extra tight.