3 years ago:
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Mom, with every breath I still take, I've come to recognize that I recall your presence at the time the heavens were ready, 3 years ago.
I want you to know that I can wait to be back in your arms, as I have more quilts of memories to sew, more smiles to make, and trees to climb.
So, not yet. Not. Yet.
Oh, but my dear Mom,
I am here.
I. Am. Not. Done.
Yet all I think about….
Why?
Why am I here?
Why do I still have this vivid and only memory of a presence there with me?
Were you there to lift me up and then carry me back, because it wasn't my time?
Were you there whispering in my family's ears after they were told my time has come “...no, not yet, not yet, now is not the time”?
Mom, I have a lot for which I'm grateful. I am happy because of the quilts of memories I returned to create.
Something pulled me back. I don't know what. I don't know why.
Mom, I know there will come a time when the goodbyes will be final, the flowers laid down in remembrance of me will wilt, the whisperings of me will gently fade away, and there I'll be back in your arms again.
Together.
Forever.
Just as it was meant to be.
Memento Mori