Golden Days

So how do I talk to you now, Mother?  God has wrapped your soul into His sheltering love, and I am an orphan.  Dad left us so long ago I've only the smallest of recollections for one I always called my VERY BEST FRIEND.  How can that be?  Time, I suppose, yes it must be all this time gone by, Dad.  Almost 20 years since you left. Did you welcome Mother when she appeared?  Ah well ... how she could sing, remember?  All who heard Mother ring out such dulcet notes would always feel the need to tell her so, and some would find themselves in tears.  I was among them, do you remember Mother?  With my piano as your partner you made such music as would cause birds to be hush, the better hear your voice.  But it's over now, and forever.  So with 7 other siblings, I am parentless, an orphan.  Age means nothing when you find you're now accountable to no one.  Mother, did you ever know of the countless times I've shied toward you, in tears, looking for the validation only a Mother could give?  I was a child then.  When your body gave up it's worldy work, I felt as a child then, too.  And I fear I may always feel as a child when thinking of all those unanswered questions I'd one day intended to ask.  Then you became terribly ill and my chance disappeared, like so many stars blinking out their light in the dawn of day.  One night you became ill, in the morning you were gone.  So how do I talk to you now?  I called you Mother, but not always - once upon a carefree time I called you Mama, like all children do.  When was the last time, was I six, maybe fourteen?  The final time you call your mother Mama is a sweet and shady moment that isn't really noticed, but privately somehow should be marked down.  Rest, Mama, rest your soul and be happy now, for your have found release - you sing with choirs of angels, for the gentle Prince of Peace.