Mundane Matters

Where Did She Go?  What Did We Do?

She was an organized, get-er-done,whip-you-into-shape kind of gal. She was the one who insisted our Lori not leave to go shopping without some kind of identification. And she was one who came to stay with us—to help in any way she could—after our Lori was home from the hospital after her wreck. 

Thus began many years of relationship with her. I’ll not give her name. There’s no need. Those who know us will know, and for those who don’t it really doesn’t matter. 

This special person became a part of our family. She came for holidays. She called us mom and dad. Our sons looked to her as an older sister. She was with our Lori when she died so far from home. And to our Tammy she became the sister she lost. 

At one point, she lamented “Why can’t you just adopt me?”

So we did. Figuratively. We even had a special plaque made confirming the relationship. As far as we were concerned, she was a Hiebert. She’s even in the family pictures for both our boys’ weddings.

Then after our Tammy died, this very special person left, too. And I don’t suppose we’ll ever know why. She just stopped coming ‘home’. She didn’t acknowledge the birth of our sons’ children, and it finally reached the point we could no longer find her by phone. 

The last time we saw her was after 9/11. She called. She said she was married. They were on their way to NYC because he had a daughter they believed had been in the towers.

They came. They stayed. They even were recipients of an offering from our church to help them on their journey. And when they left, it was with a promise to keep in touch. Never to leave us again. 

So many things I wish I could tell her. Every time I think of what our daughters have missed, because of their deaths — nieces and nephews in all their growing stages, brothers advancing in their careers, etc., sisters-in-laws—I’m angry.  Angry that she CHOSE to leave us. Angry that for a few years she made us believe she wanted to be a part of us. Angry that we were so taken in.

And at the same time, I miss her. 

A mother’s heart has nothing to do with actual birthing. 

And I’m certainly not the first mom to have a prodigal, am I? 

Other parents are asking the same questions: Where are they? What did we do? Why?

Many words describe FAMILY.  

Mundane isn’t one of them.

If only she knew how much it matters.