It was a gentle rain, like tears, that fell most of the day yesterday. Funeral weather. And I thrilled to the memories shared of this wonderful woman, not yet sixty, not yet a grandmother. Tributes from friends, from her church, from her boys. Oh my, from her boys.

She was, above all, mom to six young men. Her men. All wanted, all treasured, all special. Twice as many as mine, but how I can relate to this mom of men. She collected boys, said one of them. She loved me, I always knew that, said another. I know I was lucky to have her for a mother.

It was not a punishing rain, but a sweet, cleansing rain that fell yesterday. Grace weather. And as I drove home, I watched the clouds clear and sharpen as the sunset  outlined them orange and red and pink. And under the darkening, clearing, cleansed sky I drove into my yard, and walked into my home, and into the arms of my men.

And in this morning, with sweet Vicki in my heart, I live grace.

 

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