I've visited my blog several times lately trying to decide what to write.  I've gotten stuck every time.  The thing is, my mom passed away three weeks ago yesterday.  She was incredible, and I can't begin to tell you how much I miss her.

I hadn't actually planned to write a blog about any of it.  It seemed so trite.  I just felt like Mom deserved so much more than some blog entry.  I finally changed my mind.  For one, I don't think I can write about anything else (talk about things that feel trite) unless I write something about her here.  It won't be a writing I do for healing (that's what journals are for), but she deserves at least this.  My mom loved this blog--she was hands down its biggest fan.  She honestly printed entries and saved them so we could always go back and look at them.  She loved the news I was sharing with people about the kids, and she told me all the time how she loved to read my writing.  In my life I have never wondered one time if my mom was proud of me...I have always known.  I became who I am because of who she was--including a man of faith.  She loved that about me more than anything.

Her love for our kids went way beyond this blog.  When you adopt older kids one of the early questions an expert will ask you is: "how does your extended family feel about the adoption?"  There was never any doubt about where she stood on us adopting: she stood with us no matter what might come, and she was thrilled for us.  She and Dad bought us a basketball hoop that I turned into a court in our driveway, and then went ahead and bought a hoop for them--the kids needed to have fun at their house too!

I could go on and on with stories about her.  How in our house you basically got a day and a half for your birthday, she would sit us on her lap and rock us in her chair the night before saying "this is the last time I get to rock my X year old".  She actually did this when I was in college, ignoring my argument that I would crush her--I remember how much we laughed about it, and I'm reminded how safe I always felt with her--even as a 'tough' college kid.  The day after our birthday we got to eat cake for breakfast, because homemade cake spoiled too quickly.

I have this picture in my mind, its been there since the day I got the worst phone call in my life.  It's an image of three little birds nestled under their mother's wing.  There is a storm around them, but the little birds are oblivious to it.  All they know is that they are safe.  My mom did not have an easy upbringing, but she somehow found strength in herself in it, and vowed to do things much differently when she had a family of her own.  In the history of the world I don't know if anyone's ever done a 180 like she did.  I know I thanked her for that at least once...I could have told her every day.

The English language has a cruel characteristic.  When we speak and write we modify verbs to indicate whether they are past, present or future.  Talking about my mom in the past tense feels awful.  But there is at least one statement I can make without having to make any verb changes.  Mom, you are my hero.  You always have been.  That doesn't have to change, that doesn't have to be quarantined to the past tense.  I hope I told her that.  I am my mom's son.  You can't separate her from me any more than you can take away my skin or my bones.  The hole in my heart won't ever go away, and I don't want it to, but healing will come around it and I will grow, and I will keep putting one foot in front of the other.  And the God who went to a cross for both our sakes will hold my life in his hands, just as He has hers.  And me knowing that is the greatest legacy she could give.

I hope there's a rocking chair for us in heaven, but for now I'll soar as high as I can here on earth.  I love you Mom.  I always will.