It happens every time
When family events are missing family…..
It happens every time—quiet, unexpected, and somehow just as raw as the first. And I know it’s not just me.
Our family is much like others. I don’t consider us unique or different. We have get-togethers for all the usual occasions: Christmas with great food and gift exchanges, an Easter egg hunt for the littles, Memorial Day at the lake, Fourth of July games (also at the lake), weddings, baby showers, baptisms—and this past weekend, a First Communion.
I’ve put off writing this for a few days because it’s tender. The First Communion itself wasn’t the emotional part—it was the one who wasn’t there for it.
My oldest niece’s son was celebrating his First Communion. During the mass, the priest began talking to the children about Guardian Angels. I felt a tug in my heart. He mentioned them again. I bit my lip to keep the tears from rising. (They’re here now, at the keyboard, and that’s okay—I let them come.)
I pushed the feelings down and took in the warmth and love in the church. I focused on how bright and joyful the boys and girls were, how their families beamed through the whole service. This might sound a bit corny, but I am a big softie for certain things.
Afterwards, we did what we do—we gathered at my niece and her husband’s home to celebrate. Food, laughter, kids running around, friends and four generations under one roof… the kind of noise that means love is in the air. At cake time, I slipped up beside my niece and asked for a corner piece (I’m a frosting fiend—no shame). It was Sunday, my guilt-free “cheat” day when I let myself enjoy without calorie-counting or worrying about logging anything on my fitness app.
As she cut me that wonderful frosting-laden slice, we were chatting about how nice the service had been, and how the priest really connected with the kids. And then she said it:
“Aunt Jacque, did you catch it when the priest talked about Guardian Angels?”
I think she saw me pause—just for a beat—before I said, “Yes. Yes, I did.” My voice caught. I could feel the tears rising again. We looked at each other, and one of us said something about not being able to talk about it. But the message was already there, understood without words. The missing presence was acknowledged. And that was enough.
The cake was delicious (the frosting, perfection). Eventually it was time to go, and I did my usual egg-duty—making sure everyone who’d requested farm-fresh eggs knew where to grab them on the way out.
Before I left, I stopped to hug my youngest niece, who’s getting married in two weeks. Another joyful gathering on the horizon. As I hugged her, I said something like, “I can’t believe you’re getting married! I swear it feels like you were just a little girl.”
We locked eyes—and just like at the cake, we silently agreed we couldn’t talk about it. The emotion was right there, just under the surface. It’s the same swell in your chest when you feel someone’s absence most deeply during the happiest times.
With this kind of buildup, you might assume my mom passed recently. But no—she’s been gone since October 2007. Over 17 and a half years now. I was lucky enough to have her as my mom for 40 years. And I miss her every single day.
Our family still gathers. Still laughs. Still celebrates. But her absence is felt at every milestone, large or small. She was there for everything—for everyone. And when she left, she left behind a space that no one else can quite fill.
Mother’s Day is just around the corner. If you’re missing your mom this year, my heart is right there with yours. And if your mom is still here, hug her for me. Take the extra moment. Say the thing.
I still remember the last hug I gave my mom. I’d give anything to have one more.
#GuardianAngelsAmongUs #BlogFromTheHeart #MemoriesThatStay
