It Won’t Always Be Like This
9 years ago today, my mom passed away. Almost a third of my life has been spent walking through a journey of grief and loss, healing and hope. And in honor of this day, of the anniversary of the moment in time when that journey began, I’m going to share so thoughts about my mum and loss and healing. Indulge me and read along? It’s long, but I think it’ll be worthwhile.
By the age of 29, my mom, who grew up in a town of a few hundred people in Iowa, had gone to college in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, taught in Minnetonka, Minnesota, travelled all over Europe, and moved halfway across the world to teach in Tsu, Japan.
In the 1970’s.
Before Facetime or email or Google Maps.
She was, in contemporary terms, a badass.
Not that she would EVER use that type of language (so please forgive me, Mama).
But I say that because she was brave – she had fears and did the things anyway. She was strong. In weakness, she chose to persevere. She was independent, while being invested in genuine friendships and community. And, most of all, she trusted unfailingly that God was present and loving in her life through the hardest of times, but she didn’t shy away from asking God the hard questions.
She was truly one of then most beautiful women I’ve ever known. And I get to call her Mom. And I wonder: how did I get to be one of two people blessed enough to have that gift?
Over the past 9 years, I’ve learned how to lose my mom, let her go, and yet still hold her close. I’ve found the things which brought me the deepest pain in those first weeks and years, the times where I had the most profound sense of loss and abandonment, are now the places where I feel she is closest.
Cooking.
Eating sliced peaches with sugar.
Drinking coffee.
Peonies.
Teaching.
Writing.
Singing.
Laughing.
Those are the things I run to when I miss her. The things that make me feel her presence when I can’t feel her arms. The things that help me hold onto her heart when I can’t hold her hand. And the things that bring me comfort when I face a day that feels like the beginning all over again.
Most of all, I think about the life she lived, the love she exemplified, and the adventures she had because of her willingness to say ‘yes.’
And about the best things I learned from her:
Faith
Hospitality
Volunteering
Compassion
How cultivating gratefulness can create joy in difficult circumstances
The rules for correct grammar
The ability to make any combination of noises on the phone to constantly let others know I’m listening
(Okay, the last one’s not really one of the best, but I did get it from her, so… thanks, Mom.)
I’ve thought about all of those things this summer.
When I think about my mom and her adventures and her legacy, I can’t help but think about the kind of life I want to live, the dreams I have, and what it means to take the next step.
I am so thankful that I have a mother who was intentional in the way she cared for others, incredible in her faith, and who showed me what it means to say yes to adventures, to take risks, and that a joyful life can be found anywhere if we are willing to look for it.
Grief changes in almost a decade. It’s not as sharp, or as challenging, most days. Partly because it has become “normal” and partly because time has worn away some of the sharp edges. Grief has become a part of my story, rather than the whole story, as it felt for a time.
There are still moments, though, where it is as painful and exhausting as the day I started on this journey. There are still times where I am surprised and find myself feeling pain that is all of a sudden fresh, or where I realize a place in which I have lost my mother that I wasn’t aware of before. But these are just moments now, and for that, I’m am thankful.
’I’ve come to truly believe that grief is something we journey through, rather than something we overcome. It’s not that we can deny grief, or defeat it, or even find the end of it; instead we learn to let grief walk alongside us.
And we also come to see, if we are willing and tender and open, the beauty grief and loss create in ourselves as our hearts are broken open. If we choose to let it, grief creates compassion, tenderness, and a greater appreciation for joy in our lives. Grief makes life more challenging, but also richer and more beautiful.
If you would have told me nine years ago that I would ever say these things or have this perspective on grief and loss, I would have been tempted to call you a liar. Probably to your face.
At one time, I thought I’d never get past the wondering and what ifs grief brought into my life. And, for a season, I thought I’d never truly find joy again.
But slowly, time and God have healed (and are still healing) those wounds. Not to say that I’ve “arrived,” because I certainly haven’t, but I have found hope in my loss. I’ve learned that grief and healing can coexist together.
If you’re in a season where you’re grieving a person or a thing or a dream, dear friend, I’m going to tell you what I most needed to hear (and most struggled to believe) years ago:
It will not always be like this.
And that is, in fact, a good thing.
It doesn’t mean you love that person any less, or the thing you lost means less to you, or that your broken dream has any less significance in your life.
It simply means that you’re healing.
Your journey will be hard, but it will also get easier, little by little. There will always be a hole in your life, but it won’t always feel like the gaping sinkhole it does now. And while your heart has been broken into thousands of pieces, it can be mended. And your heart can even, amazingly, become more beautiful in the process.
Along with all of those things, know that God is trustworthy; even though your life is now unrecognizable, God has not changed or abandoned you. Don’t let your circumstances tell you otherwise.
God is big enough for all of your questions, heartache, and doubts. Even the questions you’re afraid to ask. Especially those ones. I hope you keep asking, keep seeking, and that God meets you in those questions and shows you just how loved you are. Because you are so, so very loved.
And finally, dear one, know that God is at work to redeem even this. As we sit in grief, we can do so with faith because God is working to bring redemption and reconciliation to our lives. To bring shalom to us.
One of my favorite authors, Sarah Bessey, says this about faith in the midst of grief in her book Out of Sorts:
… faith isn’t pretending the mountain isn’t there. It isn’t the denial of the truth or the facts or the grief or the anger. It’s not the lie of speaking ‘peace, peace’ when there is no peace. It’s faith because it is hope declared, it is living into those things that are not yet as they will be.”
So feel the sadness and be angry.
Pray, shout, cry, long for rescue and redemption.
And when glimmers of hope begin to appear in your soul, let them rise up. Because redemption, healing, and resurrection are not only something to hope for, they are God’s will for the broken things our lives.
And as you do each of these things, know that I’m right there with you.
And so is God.