You know the one--wide awake at midnight.
It's when sleep is just far enough beyond your mind's grasp that it cannot hold onto it.
And so, you think.
Your mind wanders down paths of yesterday, where regrets are hidden in silly memories--where losses crowd your thoughts with sadness. You long for a moment with that person who knew you almost better than you know yourself.
You wish you could hear their voice-- the one that excitedly greeted you, just because it's you at the other end of the phone.
I miss my dad,
Each was always thrilled to hear me call. I can recall conversations with them as clearly as if it were today. None of them was too busy to take my call, nor did they ever wince that it was me on the other end of the line--or let on that I interrupted whatever they were doing. With all my heart, I know this to be true. And I really, really miss them because of that.
Sometimes, in the darkness of the night, I wonder if anyone will miss my calls when I am gone. I'm sure my husband will. But midnight darkness has a funny way of illuminating stark realities, sometimes. Brings to mind a quote I once read:
“When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Think about that a moment. City lights often hide those stars.
Daylight is too bright to notice the light that rests beyond the sun. Often, darker, quiet times reveal what lies hidden from our view.
Daylight is so filled with busyness and noise. We fail to see the value of familiarity amid the crowd of fresh faces in everyday places. Schedules, duties, appointments, and lifestyle demand our attention. We do not stop to contemplate that someone we care about may not be there tomorrow--or that they might enjoy hearing from us today. We're just so busy living life, until...
...until life ends for that someone dear-- then we stop long enough to grieve and wonder what was the last thing we said to them.
The last time daddy talked to me, he sang me a song he made up about loving God.
The last time my brother talked to me, he told me he was afraid to die. Not that he feared for where he was going...he believed he'd be seeing Jesus, our deceased brother and my son. He just didn't know what would happen to his daughter and wife--and he didn't know how painful the cancer would get before God took him home. I remember saying something like, the same God you trust to greet you, will meet the needs of those you leave behind. And I cried.
The last time I spoke to my son, he said, "I love you, momma."
Tomorrow I'll try and talk to my dear loved ones-- in the midst of their living. When I do, I'll savor the moments and store their words within my heart and mind. Will you? ~selahVtoday