Yes, Mom. The Weather is Delicious.

The moment I got out of bed this morning I was in a mood. A knot had formed in my stomach and began twisting itself into a tight fisted, lead balloon. It just sat there, in the middle of my stomach, making itself known and screwing with a perfectly good morning. I wish I knew what was wrong. I turned my attention to the coffee pot and tried to push whatever this was down as I filled the pot and scooped the coffee into the filter. Maybe I just need a shot of caffeine.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as I stared out the window. As the sun broke over the horizon my mind began to drift. I watched the new little colt kicking up his heels. He was feeling a bit frisky. His momma, not far from his play, was munching on a bit of straw from the trough. I watched her chewing and with each warm breath, I could see the steam rise from her nostrils and disappear into the morning light.

Why do I feel like crying? Its going to be a beautiful October day. Snap out of it, Cheryl! I shook my head, as if that would clear the foreboding feeling I had, and poured my first cup of coffee.

I wish this knot in my stomach would go away. I could feel the depression descending like a thick, dark cloud. Was this just going to be a bad day? Had my serotonin levels simply plummeted? Did my brain chemicals get out of whack during the night? I didn't know. I finished my coffee and turned my attention to the kitchen clutter. I'm the only person here, how am I this messy? I shoved the emotions down as I began to clean hoping that would help me work these feeling out. But, clearing the dishes, and removing the clutter from the counter wasn't going to help this knot go away.

I poured myself a second cup of coffee and sat down in the living room. The wood stove was crackling with warm, steady heat and I settled in with my morning devotions. I opened my book and began to read. A few minutes later I realized I had no idea what I had read. With a sigh I started again. I read, and re-read the same two paragraphs but could not concentrate. Come on, girl. Get it together! Nothing I said or did helped. Whatever this was it wanted me to fully experience it. The knot continued to twist my insides like it was wringing out a wet sock.

Just let it happen.

What in the world is wrong with me? I was on the verge of tears now. Nothing had happened, I hadn't gone anywhere. No one had telephoned. Nothing. I didn't have a bad dream the night before that created this feeling--that has happened in the past, but I always remember those dreams. All I had done this morning was wake up and get out of bed. That was it.

There was something there, though. I just couldn't put my finger on it. Something right in front of me. What is it? I re-read the same paragraph again, this time trying to absorb what I read. Nope, not happening. I put the book down and went to the front door. I could feel the chill seeping in from the pane of glass in the storm door. I wrapped my sweater around me.

Winter was poking its head around the corner. The leaves had already turned bright red, yellow and orange, and every color in between,. Like God had dipped the tip of a paintbrush into every color imaginable and dabbed them onto the surrounding landscape, just because he could. This was bonfire weather. Roasting hot dogs on sticks, and eating s'mores; wrapping up in soft sweaters, and bundling together in grandma's quilt for hay rides in the dark.

Delicious.

What? Delicious? Where did that come from?

The fog in my brain began to lift. Along with that simple word came an overwhelming feeling of the presence of my mother. Mom. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I allowed my heart to feel the grief and loss; the pain of her death six months ago squeezed my heart as though she had just died yesterday. It made sense now. That feeling of something wrong. Something not right. Someone missing.

Yes mom. The weather is delicious.

This was the first crisp morning of the fall season. That was mom’s thing. Whenever the first cool, sweater days of fall rolled around, she donned her Somebody Special Calls Me Nana sweatshirt, her soft pants & fuzzy slippers with her thick socks, and gleefully made her first cup of hot cocoa. She would hold that cup with both hands, and take that first sip. As she took the cup down she would lick her lips and let out an exaggerated, ahhhhh! As if that particular cup of hot chocolate was the best thing she had ever tasted. She would look at me, with bright eyes and a smile, and say, “

The weather is delicious!

I’d mumble something as I poured a cup of coffee. I'd roll my eyes at her silliness. Then, she would reminisce, again, how much she loved the cooler weather. It always reminded her of when she was a child. She would tell me, again, about the old, Appaloosa speckled, plow horse, with hooves as big as dinner plates, she used to ride through the fields. How she would stay outside, all day, until her grandmother would call her in to eat.

She would, once again, giggle as she told me if she wasn’t outside riding the horse, or if the Iowa weather didn’t permit her to be outside, she was inside pretending to be a horse. Her nickname was Trigger. Yes, named after Dale Evans’ and Roy Rogers’ horse. Every morning she would tear her shredded wheat into a bowl – without milk – put the bowl on the floor, and eat it on her hands and knees… like a horse eating its hay. Then, she would gallop around the house, saying things like, “Whoa, Trigger.” Or, “Giddyup.”

Then, as if the channel changed, she would tell me how she helped her grandmother in the garden. Or, how the juiciest peach she ever had was straight off of the fruit tree, biting into it and letting the juice run down her chin. She would tell me how she sat for hours, in the crook of a tree while reading a book. She loved to read--the stacks of books that lined our coffee tables, shelves and around her chair, were proof of that. She would tell me, once more, how no one worried about where she was, or what she was doing. They knew if Margie – that was her real name – wasn’t galloping in the house, or riding the plow horse, she was sitting in her favorite tree, reading.

Later in the day she would want to go for a ride to look at the trees. One year, after a particularly wet summer, the colors were brilliant. She oohed and awed like a child enjoying the beauty of God’s creation.

One year, we drove to Bald Knob Cross to view the colors from the scenic overlook. Of course, the foggy, misty day didn’t dampen our spirits as we walked to the overlook. We both fell silent as we surveyed the expanse of earth from the top of that hill. As a treat we would stop for lunch, or, just an ice cream cone. Simple times. Good times.

This is my first fall without her.

No one is really prepared for it. Death. It's an unwelcome visitor that no one can keep away. It changes the atmosphere of your heart in ways that can only be understood when you experience it yourself. One moment your best friend is here with you, and the next she is not. There's nothing that can make it better. Nothing that can replace the one you lost. Time only helps you adjust to the new normal. How to live without the one you love. It never helps you get over it.

Mom had become more than just a friend to me. After my divorce we decided to share a home together. She was there for my boys when they came home from school. Helped with homework-- Mom picked up the slack created by their deadbeat father. She was there for every baseball or basketball game; Every single band performance or Madrigal show, she attended. Mom was there for every single thing we went through as a family. Every birthday. Every Christmas. She was more than just my mom.

My friend.

My confidant.

My right hand.

Yes. The air is crisp this morning. It’s delicious. I should go get Mom's canister of hot cocoa and make a cup, lick my lips and let out an exaggerated “aaaah,” but I can’t. I can't stop the tears from falling as I think about the things I miss.

The sound of her voice.

The light in her eyes.

Her laugh.

Her presence.

Her.

Even though I have heard her stories one thousand times, what I wouldn't give to hear them one more time. Especially now that the weather is delicious.