Today is the fifth anniversary of my mother's death.

And I miss her.

And I don't really want to write about it, because it hurts. And I do really want to write about it, because it is sacred and beautiful and a day that will live in my memory.

That afternoon, I went to the medical center shortly after lunch. I had noticed the day before that Mother's skin seemed dry, so I took some lotion with me. I spent time soothing her, and read to her from the Buechner book. I knew her fever was high, and the doctor confirmed that the pneumonia was taking over.

As the afternoon went along, I could see that Mother was uncomfortable, trying to relax, and trying to stay awake for my sake when it was pretty clear that she was sleepy and needed some quiet. So I leaned over and kissed her hand, said I that I loved her and knew she loved me, and that I would see her soon. Then I left.

As I was driving away from the medical center, I asked God to come and cradle her in his arms like He would hold a baby, because she was tired and frightened, and I couldn't do anything to ease her.

And He did.