It occurs every Sunday morning at 4:37 a.m…the dream, the startled awakening, the stream of tears down my sleepy face, and the coolness of your hand upon my brow…

Reliving the moment you took your last breath on this side while crossing over to the next leaves me awestruck.  Memories, flashbacks, music, and more drift through my thoughts while lying awake staring at the ceiling and wiping my tears.

Sundays were always sacred family days in our home and very little interfered with the expectations for a peaceful day of rest and rejuvenation.  Church attendance, a big meal, a relaxing afternoon with a nap or quiet time, popcorn, board games, and laughter were the only requirements of the day.  While we rarely pondered this weekly routine; Sundays were the foundation for peace in our home, the peace set by your living example.

You may have been born on a Tuesday but you celebrated your Homecoming on a Sunday.  You told us you needed to rest and go home; you did, on a Sunday.  You smiled and shared, “I’m not scared,” and followed the light of peace, on a Sunday.  What a blessing to know you were with me when I took my first breath in this lifetime and you gave me the honor of being with you when you took your last, on a Sunday.  Not many of us are given this teachable moment with a loved one; even fewer are aware of the gift it truly becomes, especially on a Sunday…