Comfort was sitting in Mom’s living room

for years after Dad was gone.

From our soft chairs

we watched the pine tree fill the front window:

day and night,

it shielded Mom from the sounds of traffic,

muffled by snow in winter.

Comfort was sitting, laughing, listening –

not forever, as time turned.

Comfort is sitting with my husband, forever fresh-faced, toe to toe,

on the couch, our feet covered with a gifted afghan,

each day.

Comfort is reading Rumi, laughing, listening.

Comfort is the listing birch that graces my view,

a forever friend, happy, lovely.

Comfort is quiet, deep, still,

and gone,


Mary Elyn Bahlert 2/29/2019

4 thoughts on “Comfort”

  1. Thinking of my mom now. Comfort in knowing I was loved all the time, no matter what, whether deserved or not. Is it any wonder that sometimes when I pray, I pray to her? It’s hard to understand that kind of love except as how she felt about me. Only because I pray can I believe that comfort is not – gone forever.


  2. I loved reading this.I can picture you and Uncle Jeff sitting there nice and warm playing footsies while gazing into each other’s eyes once in awhile and little smile to say I love you..I was just looking at pictures of mom the other day…She never met a stranger and always made you feel like family .Oh how I miss her big smile that was my comfort zone with mom..😘💗


    1. Dear Alicia, I’m so happy that you are reading my blog! Yes, what you say about your mother is really true. What a big heart she had! I am still sad that your mother has passed. I miss her so often. And I miss Grandma, sitting in her place. Thank you, dear one!


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