Sunday morning as I readied my children for church, I found myself blinking away almost constant tears. I don't know why Sunday's are the hardest. I imagine it is the closeness I feel to the Spirit while attending my meetings. Even my sweet Rachel has the hardest time on Sunday, often crying her way through Primary songs with her Primary teacher daddy holding her hand.
The closing song of our Sacrament Christmas program was Silent Night. I have never heard it sung so beautifully and found peace in each melodic verse of our ward choir. But I could not contain the tears and felt a bit embarassed at this raw, personal show of emotion in so public a setting.
Later I stopped in at my mom's to help her with a quick task. I sought comfort in her arms and sobbed as she held me. Sometimes I can't even articulate what I am feeling, I just know that I feel so weighed down, so profoundly sad. The beautiful thing about my mother's love is that there is no need for explanation. She just knows. She understands and accepts.
Imagine my surprise then, when I read this today at Segullah. Of course I cried my way through it, espescially when the author writes "The loss of my father penetrates in the cavern of my chest and I carry it daily, and with even more heaviness just before Christmas."
But the article also gave me peace. Peace in knowing that my feelings are normal and understood by those who have suffered the same loss. Peace in the blessing of a firm testimony that my dad is well and close by. And espescially, peace and gratitude for the blessing of a kind and loving mother who is still here to offer her mother arms in comfort when I need it most.