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,
forever.
Mary Elyn Bahlert 2/29/2019
TheWisdomYears.org 
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.
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Thanks for reading and for your comment, Sherri. I love your praying to your mom. Yes, it makes sense. I also pray to the ancestors. Such a comfort, and a relief! Blessings to you!
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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..😘💗
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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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