Bridgy hasn’t left my side since my mother died. Her grief comes in gentle waves and salty tears. Dark, tangled strands of hair stick to her wet, pale cheeks as I cradle her in my arms by the Christmas tree.

“Did she know I loved her,” she asks. “I didn’t tell anyone how sick she was. I wish I’d told my friends. 

“I wish I’d raised my hand when they asked if we knew anyone who needed prayer. If I’d asked my classmates to pray for her, would it have made a difference? Would she have made it another day? 

“Why couldn’t she have made it another day? Just one more day ’til Christmas…”

We went to my mom’s today to look for insurance papers. While my sisters and I were there, Bridgy asked if she could take home the Chatty Kathy doll my mother named Bridgette. She also took home the one she named Saylor. My mother loved her vintage dolls and was active in Facebook doll groups. She had great fun dressing them up for special occasions and little contests.

“I was going to bring my romper that looks like Saylor’s dress,” Bridgy said. “I kept forgetting. Now, she won’t get to see it.” 

During one of my own waves of grief, I told Bridgy I was so sad that my mom wouldn’t get to see her and her brother grow up or her big sister get married. Bridgy said, “Mommy, she sees all the unseen things now.”

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

1 Corinthians 13:12

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