December 12, 2015

December 12, 2015

My mom died tonight.

December 13, 2015

The pain comes and goes in waves. Not just little waves – tidal waves, separated by complete calm. It is worse when I am alone. That is when I can feel the heaviness, when it is hard to breathe. 

My mom died.

I have been able to say it out loud only once. I cannot bring myself to do it again. Not yet. But maybe here, I can write it, and let the reality sink in. The reality of what I have known would be true for so long.

My mom died.

She won’t be at my wedding. She won’t see me in my dress. She won’t meet my kids. They’ll never know her. I’ll never see her smile again, or go on sunshine walks, or take Pepper to visit her. When I close my eyes I see her, smiling at me when I walk in her room, shaking her finger and laughing, asking for chocolate. I remember us shopping for my prom dresses, the times she gave me terribly uneven bang haircuts in elementary school, and learning to bake cookies by her side. Now the memories are all I have.

My mom died.

My mom is in Heaven.

My mom is free.

She waited as long as we asked her to. She got to see her brother and sister. She knows Everly made it safely into the world. And now she is home in time for Christmas.

My mom died, but she is not dead. She’s alive, healthy, and whole in Heaven. She is walking and talking and singing, again. And she is doing it all in the arms of Jesus.

I will miss her, so much. During every big moment, I will know she should be here. But I wouldn’t want her anywhere else than where she is.

I love you, Mom. I will see you soon.

June 23, 1963 – December 12, 2015

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am not posting this to share my pain, but to share my healing.

I have found there is a fine line between joy and grief, sorrow and peace. There is beauty in mourning, and deep sadness can intermingle with joyous celebration. When someone you love has been sick for so long, you cannot help but delight when the Lord takes her home.  But that depressive cavern of darkness is still there, waiting to swallow you if you let it.

I am thankful that God gives us a light, that He promises to bind up the wounds of the broken-hearted. And in the moments I could not pick up my head from the heaviness of it all, He was there to lift me up. He sent people to surround me with His love and His words of comfort.  I found that I did not cry when I was most sad, but when I felt most safe. I wept in the Lord’s presence.  That is where I felt known and understood, because He knew my pain, too.  And, in time, He has helped me replace that sorrow with hope and sweet, sweet peace.

 I know my mom did not spend 8 years sick to just be gone. Instead, she is in heaven. I have that hope. I hold on to that truth.  I will see her again.