Today at church we celebrated All Saint’s Day.

We lit forty candles symbolizing those from our congregation who died during the year. We named them, and we heard the vibrations of their names echoed in the sound of a bell tolled after each name.

In my mother’s church, her name was read. Miles away from that place, the vibration of her heart was sounding in my own.

Later in the day I scrambled to ready myself for a church gathering.  I threw on a much-mother-mended sweater bought on the Isle of Skye.  I have worn it with gratitude for nearly twenty years.  Mom kept it healthy with her knitting and mending genius.

Today as I put it on I noticed a hole in the elbow and it hit me that my mother can’t fix it.

Mom can’t fix it.

This hole in my sweater has unraveled me.

3 thoughts on “mom

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