As I tucked Matthew in tonight, he asked, "Where's Oma?" It's a question he asks me sometimes once a day, sometimes once a week.
"In heaven," I answer, tears just under the surface of my words.
"Oh." And he rolls over and closes his eyes.
He asks the question that is on all of our minds.
"Where is Oma?" A redundant question, really, for we all know the answer. She's in heaven, with her Father, a comforting fact, to be sure. But what we really are wanting to know is, why isn't she here? All I could think on Saturday at her memorial service is how much she would have loved it. Her whole family at church together, with dainty morsels and strawberries and coffee to enjoy with friends afterward! And all on her birthday. It was the perfect day....except she was missing and we all felt like she should be walking in the door any minute. How could she possibly be gone?
Reminders of her are everywhere...a wooden spoon, a favorite mug, her pin cushion and notebooks-right where she left them, awaiting the return that was not to be. It's all different now. Which is not bad, I know. But it's also not easy.
"Oma died." Daniel says out loud, less often now than when it was fresh and raw.
"Yes, I know sweetie." It's as if he needs to remind himself. Saying it out loud makes it real. Because it is a bit surreal. Life is odd without Oma. And I know we will see her again.
But it's not easy.
