“I Miss My Mom.” That is something you would expect a child to say. Or maybe even a young adult. Well, today I heard it differently.

I was playing piano at a funeral in an area church. The deceased was an elderly woman, just a few weeks short of her 90th birthday. I didn’t know this woman, and they had picked all the “old-fashioned” hymns, such as “Borning Cry,” “How Great Thou Art,” and “The Old Rugged Cross.”

As I was practicing these songs beforehand, I was a little concerned, because I didn’t know if people would sing them. And honestly, knowing the deceased was quite elderly, I didn’t know how many people would be there. So I made sure I was ready to play 25-30 minutes of pre-service music, just to fill up the room. I’ve been to some funerals where there are so few people, it just feels…sad. I mean, sadder than normal. Sometimes a little background music can help.

But as I walked in forty minutes before the service, I was pleasantly surprised to see the room had quite a few people. So about thirty minutes before the service, I played “background music.” (Which honestly, is my specialty!) People were milling about; some were laughing, some talking, some were bringing in food for the meal to follow. We’ve all been to funerals. And while the people there are normally sad, they don’t always show it. At least not right away. That’s how this one was. I wasn’t sure how people felt about this woman.

Everything was as you’d expect it. The service started, the Pastor announced the opening hymn, and people sang along. There were some Bible readings, some things read from her obituary, and other things of that nature.

Then the Pastor said, “Does anyone have anything to say?” In all there were three people who spoke, and all were emotional. I didn’t even know the woman, but some of the things they said really hit me hard. I was gratified to realize that, even though people weren’t crying or wailing, it was clear this woman would be missed.

But then her daughter spoke. Keep in mind that the daughter was probably in her late 60s or so. I kinda thought she would just be matter-of-fact about her mother. But that wasn’t the case. She talked about her mom, and the interesting things she did, and what she was like. But when she was about done, she paused, then looked up at everybody and said, “I really miss my mom.” Then she sat down.

I almost lost it, sitting just a few feet away from her at the piano. Those five little words really struck me. Maybe it’s because, after almost twenty years, I still miss my mom. But really, I just think it was because, while all the other words were obviously planned, these few words felt like they just came out of the well of her soul. They felt like the truest words she had ever spoken.

I’ve heard many tributes to departed loved ones. Both in person and through the media, I’ve heard people speak very eloquently about the deceased. And these people are almost always sincere.

But somehow, of all the tributes I’ve heard, those five words might have been the best. Because it felt so unplanned, so spur-of-the-moment, so heartfelt, so real. And for just a moment, I thought of the daughter, an elderly woman, as a little girl who missed her mommy. And maybe she did too. Because, those five simple words said it all: “I really miss my mom.”