Hummingbirds and Mother's Day

Dear Aaron,

The hummingbirds are back.

I thought I heard one earlier today when I was working in the yard, but didn't see it. Now I'm sitting on the patio, finishing reviewing for my test on Wednesday, and they (or it?) keep showing up. I'm not good enough to tell if it's the same one, or multiple. But they're back, and it feels good. 

The weather is just the right amount of warm. Gramma's roses are beginning to bloom, and I'm hopeful that some of your flowers will come up soon. The sun is going down, but still well above the horizon. The dappled light comes through the trees that are beyond the bud stage, but still have the new spring green color, not fully developed yet. 

I hear the crickets chirping and Sophie is laying by my bare feet. A bird just flew through the yard. The fresh-cut grass smells of summer. 

And tomorrow is Mother's Day. 

Last year, I wasn't here, I was in Arizona with Gramma and Grampa, and the day after, I called the ambulance for Gramma. This year, she's with you in heaven. 

It's my first Mother's Day without my mother, and my first one here at home without you. Last year I avoided it; a new place, different focus. But I'm grateful I was with Gramma, so grateful. I think I took her for granted all those years. I mean, I never knew life without her. She was a constant presence, even if we weren't together.  I figured she always would be.

Like you, I see her in so many things: the wind wheel outside my office window, the blanket on my bed, the fleece shawl I keep in the car that she made with "I Love You" embroidered in the same color so really only I know it's there. And the bracelet she gave me a year ago that was supposed to be about you and now signifies her as well. 

I miss you. I miss her. Two significant pieces of my heart are missing. 

I'm so grateful for my family. All but you and Matthew and Michael will be here tomorrow, and I'm sure the two of them will call. It will be loud and chaotic and crazy. Eleven adults and four small children create that, and it will be beautiful. 

But still...

Oh Aaron.

My last one, my forever baby, the one I meant to take care of for as long as I could imagine.

And I guess in a way, I still do. I carry you with me; your memory, your love, your inspiration.

Is the hummingbird that keeps coming back your way of saying "hi"?  I hope I make you both proud.

Sending you all my love...

Love, 
Mama

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words,
and never stops at all.

- Emily Dickinson