I’ve been feeling Mom’s passing more intensely again. When she first died, the grief was overwhelming. Eventually it softened a little, or at least became something I could carry. But lately it feels heavier than before, like the tide has come back in, stronger and colder. My wife tells me I’m dwelling on the grief too much, but I don’t know how to “get over” something like this. It feels like I’m drowning in an ocean of sorrow. I can’t see the shore, I can’t see a rescue boat, just endless waves of grief crashing over me.
And yet, something in me is changing. When I hear about someone losing a parent, a child, or any loved one, I feel their loss in a way I never did before. I always cared, but now it hits deeper. Maybe it’s because Mom’s death is still fresh, but I’m aware of death in a way I wasn’t before. It’s like I finally grew up. I don’t see death as a simple “absence” anymore. I feel the hole, the empty space that person leaves behind in the lives of everyone who loved them.
I’ve lost pets before. I mourned them, and I missed them. When my little dog died, I thought it was the end of the world. But it wasn’t. Life kept moving. I thought that experience would prepare me for losing my parents someday. It didn’t. When my dog died, there was a hole. But when Mom died, it felt like a whole part of me died with her. I lost happiness. I lost desire. I lost what little positivity I had left for my day-to-day life.
Even the things that used to bring me joy feel muted now. I used to love driving my 2019 Hyundai Veloster N. That car felt like part of my identity. Customers recognized it. Friends knew it. People would stop by the store just to talk because they saw it parked outside. I looked forward to warm, salt-free days so I could take it out, hear the exhaust, feel the acceleration. But now, I’ve been driving my Audi instead, plain, simple, reliable. The excitement is gone. Everything feels duller.
I’ve never been a naturally positive person. I’ve never been an upbeat optimist, not since my teenage years. Maybe there was a time when I wasn’t so pessimistic, but I don’t remember it. Losing Mom amplified the negativity in my head. My wife keeps telling me to think positive thoughts, to learn positivity, and I do try. But it’s slow. It’s unnatural. It’s like trying to learn a language my brain doesn’t speak.
Still, even in all this heaviness, I will continue to praise God. The other morning, while I was showering, missing Mom and longing for my wife to finally be here, I found myself talking out loud. And despite not liking the band, Casting Crowns popped into my head, “Praise You in This Storm.” I’ve heard that song too many times, but the message hit me anyway. Now before anyone complains, they are a perfectly good band, I just was forced to listen to them too much on repeat and now I find them annoying. Yes, they make great music, that's all I got to say. God has been good to me and to my family. Even if I struggle to express gratitude, I will keep offering my quiet prayers and praises every day.
Sometimes God’s ways feel strange. He gives us strengths, and then He calls us into situations that go against our nature. He asks us to step into places where every part of our mind says, “Avoid this.” But when we obey, He shines through us. We exist for His glory, after all.
God knows how deeply Mom’s passing has hurt me. He reminds me that she isn’t hurting anymore. She isn’t in pain, or guilt, or discouragement. She is praising Him with everything she is, in the way He always intended her to praise Him. All her strengths, all her nature, finally aligned perfectly with His presence. And because of that, I will keep praising God through the tempest and the storm. It’s what I was built to do.
God knew when her time was coming. He knew how close we were. He knew how much it would hurt. And even though I’m still drowning in grief, I trust that He is with me in the waves.
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