"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."
Joshua 1:9
The Price of Love: A Farewell to My Anchor
Jimmy Carr one said in one of his serious moments in his comedy, "Grief is the price we pay for love." I’ve heard those words before, but I never truly understood them until now. Love is the greatest feeling in the world; to be accepted by someone so completely makes you feel invincible. But there is a math to it that I’m only just learning: the deeper the love, the more the grief is going to hurt.
I am dealing with that debt right now.
The Warrior and the Infection
My mom wasn’t just my mother; she was my friend. She was a "crazy warrior woman", the kind of person who obtains a black belt after having both knees replaced (I still have never heard of this happening by anyone else, let me know if you know someone). She was powerful, a pillar, and a constant in my life. Because of that strength, I never truly believed this would be the end. I thought God would heal her here and let her live a long, healthy life. I wasn't ready to live in a world without her.
I was angry about it. I am still angry about it. I'm angry that an infection could bring down someone so powerful. I am angry the doctors couldn't have done more. I’m angry that God let it happen, and I’m angry that she isn't here when I want her most. I’m not ready to be the "adult" in everything yet. I just want my mom.
The Stabs in the Chest
Grief is a language no one can teach you. It’s found in the strangest places. The other day, I walked by one of those phone mounts that sits high in a cup holder. My mom had one, and it was always in the way when I was her passenger. I used to complain about how "stupid" it was all the time. When I saw it in the store, I felt a physical stab in my chest because I realized I can’t complain to her about it anymore. I just want to tell her I love her one more time and give her a hug.
Even during a recent trip to Brazil with my wife, which was a much-needed reprieve from life, I saw mom there everywhere. I’d see things and think, She would have loved to see a picture of this or I wish i could bring this home for mom. Then, coming back to a house filled with her things and her memory... it is so hard on my heart. Now three months later, having been working on cleaning the house, donating her good clothes to people that need them, knowing the weather is getting warmer and she would want to drive her convertible with the top down in the warm sun., it is hurting just the same. Like the knife has never left my heart.
The Changing Tides
I’ve talked to others who have lost people. They say it gets easier, but I don't think that's the right word. The pain doesn't change; it stays the same. It never actually gets easier. What changes is the "trough" between the highs and the lows. Right now, the pain swells up and overtakes everything I’m doing. In time, I know the space where I can function normally will get longer and longer. But I will miss her every single day until we are reunited in heaven.
I see that same grief in my family. I think of my sister, who called her nearly every day after work to talk about life and family. I think of my dad, who lost his best friend and his wife of forty-five years. She was more than half of his life. I know I am not alone in the pain, but everyone's pain is unique to them, because mom was something different to each of us. Each of our relationships were unique, sure my sister and I were both her children, but our lives, our experiences, our pain, is unique to us. But we share the same longing, the same pain of losing our mother.
Easter is upon us this year. I don't want to celebrate. I don't want to go to church or do all the things I should do. I don't feel it in my heart because my heart is mourning still. But I will go, because of the empty tomb. It is a promise now, of a resurrection for all of us at the end. I will see mom again, in heaven, the new earth, where she will be playing with her dogs, waiting for me.A Future Recalibrated
I had a specific vision of the future. My wife would soon be here, we would have our own home, not far from mom and dad. Mom would take my wife shopping on the days when I had to work, and I would come home and have to unload the car of the things they bought that day. Mom and my wife would cruise around in mom's convertible hair blowing in the drive. My wife and I want to have a daughter, and I wanted my mom there to spoil her, to buy her beautiful dresses, and to be the grandmother she was meant to be. I knew I’d need her help navigating life as I moved into this new chapter of marriage.
Everything changed in the course of a couple of weeks. Some people lose themselves in this kind of change, becoming shadows of who they were. I don't know exactly what the future holds now, but I know I will keep going. I have to. My mom worried about me a lot. About how I would handle her not being here. I told her I would be fine. I know I will see her again. But if I had to tell her how I am doing now, I would tell her not good. I am managing, I am moving forward because I have to, but so much of me wants to give up and disappear. But I will keep going, always forward.
I will cling to my wife, who is my new anchor, and my life. And I will hold on to the rest of my family, because I’ve learned how limited our time is. And if I am blessed with a daughter, she will grow up knowing the stories of her amazing grandmother, the most wonderful, amazing person in the world. She will read the stories of my mother. Of her love of animals, her love of God, how she could find ways to make everyone she met feel loved and special.
Heavenly Father, thank You for the gift of my mother’s life and the fierce, warrior spirit she shared with us. Though my heart is heavy with the price of this love, I find peace knowing she is resting in Your arms. Please give me the strength to navigate the quiet spaces between the waves of grief, and help me to honor her legacy by loving my family as deeply as she loved us. Until we are reunited, keep her memory bright in my heart. Amen.
