If I could hear my moma pray again…

2018 went out like a lion and 2019 came in with that same damn lion.

Sunday I woke up and the flu attacked me with a vengeance. I cannot remember feeling so bad. Take your worst hangover ever and times that by ten. That’s still not how bad I felt. This went on for hours.

My poor hunka hunka would rush to me each time to hold my hair and ask me if I needed anything. Death. Is death an option right now?!

I was literally praying to God for either healing or death, whichever was easier. I’m still here so God must have thought healing was the answer.

My dad called me right in the middle of my ’embracing the toilet’ moments. He can’t hear thunder and I’m like nearly yelling into the phone, “I NEED TO CALL YOU BACK!” I hang up. He calls right back. I say, “I’ll call you back!” And I hang up again. He calls back. Thankfully I’m staggering back to bed by then. He couldn’t figure out what was going on with the phones. He never understood what I said. Oh Daddy. He was also chatty. I hate to ever tell him when I’m sick, but I needed to tell him because I didn’t feel like talking. That didn’t deter him. Sigh. I finally get him off the phone. And I go back to my slow painful death.

Less than an hour later Daddy calls back. Oh man. He kept talking and talking. I was barely able to answer. He started talking about how my mom would make a concoction on the stove with turpentine, Vick’s salve, and other stuff. I remember that. Vick’s is one of my absolute favorite smells to this day because of my Moma. Then he said, “If your Moma was here, she would know how to make you feel better.” Here come the waterfalls.

Throughout my entire life, I could always crawl up in my Moma’s lap. She would pray for me any time I was sick. Moma had healing powers. She always made things better. Doesn’t matter how old you get, a girl always needs her mom. I don’t have her now. And I’m sick. I need her.

After puking for over 10 hours, no joke, I couldn’t stop praying for healing or death. After my dad called the second time, during my prayers I asked God to have Moma pray for me. I know I could always talk to God directly, but Moma could always make it better. I stopped puking. I didn’t feel better other than I stopped puking. That’s a step. God listened. Moma prayed.

At any given time in my life, I could call my mom and ask her to pray for me. She would do it right when I had her on the phone. If I could get to her, I could always crawl in her lap and she would pray without fail. Moma would pray for me even when I didn’t ask. That’s what mothers do. They pray.

Took me till today to be vertical. I had to miss my first day of work and I felt horribly bad for feeling bad. I’m not one who ever misses work.

This blog is different from others. But it’s mine. All mine.

I’m feeling better. Thank God for having Moma pray. I know He had a little hand in it.

Loretta Lynn and Patsy Cline sing a beautiful song. Take the time to listen.

Peace out, Trout!

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