After the whirlwind of the last four days – starting early Friday morning and ending when we finally got back home to Peachtree City last night – it is hard not to be sad.

But I suppose I need a bigger, more lively and substantial word. Sad doesn’t quite seem to do my emotions justice this early Tuesday morning as I head toward the airport.

There is one little spot overlooking a lake at the golf course across the road from our home where, if you hit the timing just right, the sun peeking over the trees and lighting up the clouds is almost magical – even if only for a few fleeting moments.

There have been many mornings over the last few years when I caught that timing just right and snapped a quick photo of the sunrise, often with power lines or houses or trees marring the view. But there was something about the singular uniqueness of that one moment in time that I loved.

And I would send those pictures to Momma.

I knew she was probably already awake, and I knew she would love seeing the sunrise from my point of view – before the sun reached her in Randolph County and continued its procession across our sky toward the inevitable sunset that evening.

And so it was this morning.

In this new chapter of my life, where Stew and I have lost our taproot, I happened perfectly upon that brief window of time as the rising sun was lighting up the clouds over Fayette County, and I took a few quick photos.

And almost immediately I realized that I couldn’t send them to Momma.

For just a moment, I wondered if perhaps she had orchestrated the timing.

The Rev. Michael Frye from our church here in Peachtree City conducted Momma’s service yesterday, and it was beautiful and perfect. Daddy would have loved it.

Father Michael was at my house Friday morning when I returned from the hospital. His was the first set of arms that embraced me as I sobbed at the loss of my Momma. He had a small copy of the Book of Common Prayer with him, and after he prayed with Ashley and me and our friend Amy, I gave him a copy of the service bulletin we had used for Daddy (also pulled from the BCP) and I asked him to take it from there. He did such a fabulous job.

In his homily yesterday, Father Michael shared something I thought was especially profound – and something that seems to fit perfectly here.

He said he believes there are windows from Heaven back into this mortal world. Our loved ones who have gone on into glory before us don’t spend all their time looking down upon us, as there are much better things to do in Heaven. But perhaps those windows open from time to time, allowing them to check in on us and see how things are going.

I believe there was one of those openings yesterday during Momma’s service at Dark-Maxwell Cemetery on Old Dark Road.

And perhaps there was just one more this morning as I watched the sun scramble up and over the pines and paint the early morning clouds over Redwine Road.

So, was I sad? Yes. But perhaps the more substantial word I’m looking for, at least for this portion of my day, is melancholy.

Merriam-Webster defines melancholy, in part, as “a state or spell of low spirits.”

Now, if you know me, you know I’m not particularly well suited for lingering in any manner of sadness or low spirits. But as I watched the sun rise over the trees from the car window this morning, along a road I have traveled hundreds of times before, I was without question experiencing one of those spells.

And yet, how quickly that melancholy turned into something else: gratitude.

Gratitude for the myriad family members, friends and loved ones who turned out in droves for my mother Lane’s services yesterday in Alexander City and the memorial fellowship in Roanoke later that afternoon.

I keep turning that appreciation around and around in my head, remembering all her lovely friends and their beautiful faces – young and old alike – so many dressed in their finest church clothes and jewelry to pay their respects to our family and say their final goodbyes to her.

This mortal life is so fleeting, even though there are days that seem to drag on and on.

Hug your babies, y’all.

Hug your Mommas and hug your Daddies.

And hug each other.

Then take a moment to enjoy a sunrise or a sunset. Open your heart to the music in the Lord’s creation that sets the colors of the sky dancing to His rhythm.

Be still in that moment and know that He – Jesus Christ – is Lord of all.