When I arrived at Mom's gravesite for Evening Prayer, I was later than usual tonite. The sun had almost set and a deepening dusk brought some of the same colors as in Corot's Pleasures of the Evening that I mentioned the other day.
I was looking around the cemetery surrounding Mom's grave and was once again impressed by the sense of her having a new neighborhood, of being surrounded by a whole array of different folks who have been laid to rest after their long sojourn in this world in what Salvifici Doloris calls The World of Suffering.
The whole scene looked so peaceful.
Peaceful ... "Peace is in the grave."
But I don't feel peaceful.
My own heart was aching and I wept and told Mom once again that I miss her so very, very, very much.
Yet I know I can't begrudge her for what must, as I hope and pray, must be a much, much better place ...
Oh but how I miss her ... O God have mercy on me ... and please take good care of my Momma.
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