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Yesterday, up on the mountain.

In the wee hours of the morning before the light of day, my Mom left this earth. As the hours passed I found myself wandering through the years gone by, sorting pieces of a life. It is a sad, happy, I miss you thing to do, especially when a loved one’s final years have been filled with the bitterness of memory loss and ill health. By afternoon, tired and in need of peace, Bob took me to our away place on the mountain.

It was a warm day for February and I settled in a chair on the deck overlooking the Piedmont. Below me the world lay in the tarnished shades of winter. Fallen trees, broken limbs, icy rivers spoke of the season of dying. Yet, it was a scene that also spoke of peace, of an ending that would lead to a new beginning.

My eyes rose upward and I felt closer to my Mom than I had in a long while. I could see her, though the sky was empty. I knew what she was up to, now that she’d shed the weight of illness.

Lazy angels had been tumbled from their beds, and the white down of clouds they had lain on swept away. Each molecule of sky was spit polished, as only my Mom could do, until crystal clear, then stacked in perfect order until all I could see was the celestial blue shine of perfection. It reminded me of the way my Mom kept house.

The sun, teased into perfect position warmed the lump in my throat until it melted and I found the peace I had been seeking. Only a Mother could produce a day like this, I thought, and smiled a thank you.

My Mom is at peace. How do I know this? She told me not long ago, she would be happy when she went home and she is there.

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Bettie White April 14, 1924- February 7, 2015

My Mom is at peace. How do I know this? She told me not long ago, she would be happy when she went home and she is there.

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