There can be no rehearsal for a mother's death. For the months and weeks of her final illness you try to reach into the future to catch the hour of darkness and the pain and parting that is to come but there is no preparation for the emptiness of these days.
In our own way we each run down the lanes of childhood, seeking the bright moments, the lasting memory, the childhood joy of her presence and in the end, we realise that God has called her home like she used to call us in for the rosary and for bed in the growing darkness of a long, sunny, summer's day.