It’s a source of regret that I never had the opportunity to share my blog with Mom. Among the many things mom won’t see, this one stings particularly because I am certain she would have taken great pride in it. During those periods when her health permitted, she devoted countless hours to her own writing endeavors each day.
I haven’t wanted to post, write, or respond to messages and calls. I don’t want to go anywhere, or talk, or be with people, or be alone. I don’t want to think, or be in my body, or feel this pain. I don’t want to be awake or asleep. If I didn’t have God, His salvation, or the promise of Heaven; Mom’s death would kill me. It would be unbearable.
I haven’t experienced my own death yet but I strongly believe grieving is worse.
I knew it was coming, for four months. I’m forced to realize this person is permanently gone and forced to accept it. It’s something you can’t possibly understand unless you’ve been through it.
The world seems empty without her.
“I’ll be okay,” is me using all of my faith, It’s mustering up every last bit of stamina I have left in me. Every time I say it, when somebody asks me the same stupid question for the millionth time; I’m reminded that on this Earth she lost, and cancer won. I couldn’t save her and my all wasn’t enough.
The past three years felt like an unrelenting struggle. Every Christmas, when I’d look back on the year I’d had, the only thing I could remember were my days filled with tears of anguish and helplessness; the constant turmoil, battling a relentless, dark sickness that had infiltrated and consumed this home. I witnessed these forces of darkness being welcomed and nurtured.
If that makes sense? It’s hard to say in words.
Now that Mom is gone I just want to burn it all down; all of the little things that dagger me in the heart. I’m finding everything to be a trigger.
The sound of the coffee grinder makes me want to throw it across the room. Each morning, as I’ve done for years, I walk past her chair to say goodbye before work. Although I know she won’t be there, my heart still sinks a little deeper each time.
My old best friend gifted me a small plant on my thirteenth birthday, a fragile thing that teetered on the brink of death numerous times, prompting me to entrust its care to my mother. Eight years have elapsed since then, and that little plant has flourished. However, in the wake of my mother’s passing, it now withers. My father, reluctant to move anything, leaves it in its place. Each morning, as I walk past her vacant chair, I am met by the sight of this ailing plant in the kitchen.
I’m finding myself sitting with the little mut, letting him curl into my lap because he still cries at Mom’s bedroom door. I tell the dumb dog that everything is going to be okay and not to cry too much. It’s stupid.
It’s never hearing her off-key “Thank You Jesus,” worship song again. It’s looking for apartments like we’ve always talked about doing together, without her, and canceling all of my afternoon plans because I can’t stop crying. This pain of losing mom is such a heavy fog that I lose my sense of self.
I have yet to allow myself the full experience of grieving. I’m scared to know what it might entail. The thought of descending any further seems inconceivable to me. I’m busy engaging in a mental evasion of the harsh reality, even as I gradually come to terms.
I’m sure I’ll be okay. It just feels like I’ll never be able to mean it when I say it, not like I used to. It’s a different kind of “okay.”
For six years, my blog has served as a platform for documenting my life and writing down my life lessons. Losing Mom has taught me some things: When you experience grief of such overwhelming magnitude, when you lose one of the most pivotal people in your life, a door is opened presenting an unparalleled opportunity. The process of grieving, and feeling all of the weight of losing my mom, is showing me worship In a way I never understood before. It’s unlocking another level of depth in Christ that I was too immature to grasp before. An opportunity to be thankful and show gratitude for how good God is to me no matter what my circumstance is. An opportunity to share with people, to give of myself when I have nothing to give. Selflessness is ironically the best way to help yourself.
And, the best out of all these things is the opportunity to show Him that I really mean it when I say “If all I have is You, I have all I need.”
Losing mom isn’t the end of the world. I praise God for giving us the promise of Heaven.
Thx for reading. 👋
Elaine Kate 