If I were to tell the truth, it might be sadder than you imagined. If I were to be open, honest, and raw it might surprise you. If I revealed these past few months have been the most grievous of my life you might think I’m being dramatic.
If I were to share how I feel (which I’ve avoided doing here), it would go a little something like this…
Losing my mom has taken a far greater toll on me than I had anticipated. I miss her. I miss her more than I imagined possible. I’m struggling with her absence, the weight of my grief, and the vastness of the void. For nearly 5 years, I worried about her dying every day. Every day. I anticipated dealing with her death almost breezily. I knew it would be difficult but I severely underestimated how difficult. When you live in a state of waiting for someone you love to die, you are naively grateful for the advanced notice. There is an assumption you can prepare for grief; that your grief will be less harsh if you know it’s coming. It isn’t. Anticipated grief is as cruel and all encompassing as any other kind of grief.
One of the most valuable pieces of wisdom I’ve gleaned recently is that [death] grief is more profound, and paralyzing than you imagine it will be. As Christians, are we not expected to have such a deeply rooted faith in God, so as to not be rocked by life’s circumstances; death especially? That’s what I expected. Because of this expectation, I thought my moms death would hit me in a softer, gentler way. How wrong I was. Her death has rocked me. My faith hasn’t been shaken or corrupted, but, my heart is overwhelmed with grief on a daily basis.
I know over time the grief will lessen; that the pain will never fully dissipate but it will soften. There is peace because of my faith, however, peace doesn’t diminish pain, entirely. I am human, after all. I have joy and sorrow. I have peace and pain. I’m still in the process of coming to terms with her absence; giving myself copious amounts of grace as I navigate the enormity of this loss. I’m thankful she’s free from her life’s burdens, but I’ll miss her forever.
If she were still here, I’d be less sad, but she would be even more ill. I’d find joy in her presence, and devastation in her suffering. If she were still here, I’d get to tell her about my day, but I’d be inevitably frustrated to know her day primarily consisted of aches, and loneliness. I’d find peace and pain in being with her, if she were still here.
If she were still here she wouldn’t be basking in God’s glory. She wouldn’t be healed and restored.
But, she isn’t still here.
She is at peace. She is healed. She is restored. I can live with that.
Hot air ballooning around Oregon with my momma; a dream for both of us!