Light

I realized last night, with a bit of a start, that it has been 9 years since my Oma died.

One of the things that I remember about my Oma's death was that she passed away on the same day as our first baby was due to be born.  I remember when we found out we were expecting, I was so excited that my Oma would be able to meet our little one.   But.  Our baby died in miscarriage and never met my Oma.  My Oma died in 2001 and never met my other children.  Sadness.

I so wish my boys could see the light in her eyes when they ran into her kitchen.  Would feel her light as she played games with them.  Would taste her light as she unwrapped those raspberry candies that seemed in unending supply at the bottom of her purse.  Would breathe in her light as she hugged them tight.

But of course, she was old.  And she died.  And these things just aren't possible.

I knew her light.  And now all that's left, besides memories, is for me to keep her light alive by seeking to live as compassionately, as humbly and as generously as she was.

Oma, lass die Augen dein uber meinem Bette sein.