“Who Will I Call?” by Erika Lynne Jones
Who will I call when I can’t remember that recipe just right?
Who will answer my request for prayer with “honey, I do every day and every night”?
Who will I call when the kids say some of the most precocious things?
Who will be as happy as you when hubby buys me diamond earrings?
Who will I call when I need the perfect etiquette advice?
Who will help me decide whether it’s time to be stern or nice?
Who will I call when I need wise words for my growing little girls?
Who Will I exhale with when Shonda Rhimes makes me clutch my pearls?
Who will I call to lean on when the tears are coming down in streams?
Who will cheer as loud as you when I accomplish more of our shared dreams?
I will call upon the words you spoke to me and all of the stories you told
I will call upon the strength you instilled from the time I was one day old
I will call upon the cards and notes you sent in times both good and bad
I will call upon the laughter we shared daily, for it always made me glad
I will call upon the sister you gave me and admonished me to keep
I will call upon the friendships you cherished in your heart so deep
I will call upon the prayers you prayed every night on bended knee
I will call upon the angels you send to guide and protect me
I will call upon our Lord and Savior who sits on the throne most high
I will call upon your sweet, soft presence for in my heart you are always nigh
-Erika Lynne Jones
It’s been three years today since my mom passed away. I wrote this poem to read at her memorial service, which took place a month and a half after she passed. It expresses the void I felt at the time, as my mom was the person I most consistently spoke to on the phone. She lived many miles away in St. Louis and we could talk about anything – except the things I worried would make her worry about me 🙂
While the circumstances behind her sudden passing aren’t funny, there is a funny/memorable story about the day I read this poem. About ten minutes before the service began I was in the priests’ chambers of the church FREAKING OUT. I could NOT find this poem I’d written for my mother. I had printed it out and double checked my bags before coming to the church, but it was nowhere to be found. Now that my sister and I were about to pay tribute to our mother in front of hundreds of her friends and family members, my poem was missing. I frantically paced the church in heels that were too big and clothes that were beyond uncomfortable. I’d had a baby just two weeks before the loss, which meant I was operating on no sleep, raging hormones and cortisol (yes that’s the stress hormone).
A few people noticed my disturbed state and asked what was wrong including my older sister, more responsible sister who repeatedly insisted, “YOU DO HAVE THE POEM!” She said it with such conviction that I almost believed her, but she could not produce any physical evidence of this decree.
“No. It’s not here,” I moped.
My childhood big sister-friend, who is now a prolific pastor and about to eulogize my mother asked me what was wrong. When I told her she said, “Well, that’s alright. You’ve got it memorized don’t you?”
Clearly she did not know I wing everything. Rehearsing and memorizing the poem simply did not cross my mind. In the moment I shook my head and told her no I felt so stupid. But today that moment makes me laugh the most because I was just so vulnerable and it was so ME.
Also nobody knows like my mother how often I would misplace things from the time I was school aged until that very moment. So I envisioned her shaking her head and saying “Don’t worry, Erika. You did your best.”
She would always say that to encourage me, and they were some of her last words to me. I did worry though about how I might be disappointing her.
A few other people got involved in the quest for my poem, but with the organist starting the processional I finally called on help from Above. Almost instantly I realized I’d written and saved the poem in Google Docs, which meant I could read it on my cell phone and pull it up. The only problem at this point was the service had begun and my cell phone was at the front of the church. Thankfully, I had a few moments to sit before getting up in front of the congregation. I whispered the dilemma to my tech-savvy husband. He pulled it up moments before it was time for me to read the poem. Whew.
Thankfully, the reading and the entire service flowed beautifully. Deep down I know my mother would have had not an ounce less love for me if I had not read the poem, but I felt victorious. I sensed that she and all of Heaven were cheering because I did surrender, call on my Help and calm myself so I could receive the answer I needed.
And so it has been, since that day. I’ve put the words I wrote in this poem into action because I’ve needed Help to live out my daily life without mom here to support me physically. My memories, my sister, closest family members and friends, my angels, my Lord and yes even my mother’s loving presence have been so comforting to me throughout these three years. Hard days have turned into occasional hard moments and loving memories have created opportunities to share wisdom and uplifting stories with many of my friends and family.
Most of all I’ve leaned heavily on my relationship with the Divine since she’s passed and you know what? I don’t lose things as often as I used to. Truthfully, I misplace and forget my belongings all the time, but they usually get found really quickly. Sometimes they are where I left them, sometimes they are where I couldn’t have possibly left them. Sometimes I find my valuables safely waiting for me to claim them in public places. This newfound knack for finding things eases my day to day stress tremendously. I can’t help but think this is just one of the ways Heaven lets me know I’m being looked after, and that I have plenty of Help to call on whenever I need it.
I share this story not only as a therapeutic remembrance of my mother, but in hopes that someone, perhaps you or someone you love, reads it at just the right time. May it uplift you, assure you that Love lives on forever and remind you that you are never alone.
Love and Blessings,
Erika Lynne Jones
