For the past month, my life has been consumed with one of the most profound and difficult periods of life, the loss of my mother. A mother’s love runs through every tendril of her children’s life and the grief that descends on the body of the bereaved is exhausting. I’ve had little energy to muster up a column, and besides that I’ve been out of town tending to family affairs and planning a funeral mass alongside my siblings.
My mother was a lifelong Catholic and raised us in the faith. The funeral mass is a solemn and reverent time to honor life and ritualize the ascension of the soul into heaven. Ancient ritual and rites are practiced as the person’s spirit is celebrated. Participating in the mass, honors the lost. All 14 grandchildren participated with candles and prayers, a touching expression of their love.
This Thanksgiving we gathered with 33 family members from across the country in Spokane, my childhood hometown. My brother’s home was full of jubilant light and youthful energy with all 14 grandkids playing games and watching football and World Cup. Drinks were flowing and the memories shared and grew richer. So, for this week, as I emerge from the fog of the previous month, I leave with a poem I wrote in honor of my beloved mother.
Mom’s Way
By Sarah Schrock
There are mountains I never climbed,
Oceans I never crossed
And lands I never saw.
Some songs unsung
And precious moments lost.
But the path I ventured
Was richer yet than all the foreign lands,
And deeper still than the most exotic seas.
Do not pity my journey,
For it led me down a deep and wonderous way
Filled with joyful ventures big and small,
Paving a well-worn and trodden path
Into the depths of all countless hearts.
