Saturday, May 10, 2014

Mother's Day II

Last year, Mother's Day was a living nightmare. I didn't know how to act, how to be, how to breathe. I literally felt crazy. This year, I just feel sad. We learned about grief in class, and my teacher said that when people are really busy and take grieving in bits and pieces, as they have time, the grieving process lasts longer. Well, I am truly thankful that I had to pull on my shoes and get to school immediately, because I might have really been one of those people who can't get out of bed if I hadn't had somewhere I simply must be.
Amazingly, it isn't that often any more that I feel truly sidelined by my grief. It's been a year and four months, and I still cry a few times a week, still miss my Mom more than I can explain, but I am no longer drowning. Sometimes I really get hit, though, and think to myself, "how will I survive this for half of my life?"
I wish I could talk to my Mom about how she felt when Grandma died. I know she was sad, but it had been a long time coming, and Grandma was relatively old.  I remember her being sad, but I don't remember her being devastated. I wonder if she was, and just carried on like I am now. I wonder if, in her quiet moments, she wept and felt lonely and wondered if she would ever be the same.
I really never knew how much of my identity was in my Mom. It's interesting how I didn't know that I saw myself through her eyes so much. It's like she made me funny and ambitious and patient because she believed me to be those things.
I think about how she would want me to be. I can just picture it - she'd want me to be in counseling, to know that it's okay to be sad. She would know when the next big event is happening and make sure we got there, whether it was a Beth Moore conference or a special concert. We'd have been on a couple of little trips by now for some reason or another, lying side by side in a hotel somewhere, laughing until we cried and eating everything we shouldn't.
I sometimes look at the picture of my little family at her funeral reception, scrutinizing it to see how much my babies have changed. It's not terribly noticeable yet, but in another couple of years, they'll all be completely different people, and I'll grieve again for the them she never knew. My kids will earn awards at Awana, graduate 8th grade, get their driver's licenses, and I'll celebrate those things without her. It's very lonely.
There's a big learning process coming. I can feel it. I am going to be learning to see myself through my Father's eyes instead of through my mom's. He knows me better than she ever could have, and that's saying a lot. He wants even more for my life than she ever could have, and that too is saying a lot. Soon I will be learning to press further into Him, to really find comfort there under His wing. There's a hope in that, and that gets me through some pretty dark days.

1 comment:

  1. Do you have any advice for me in helping Larry though this? His dad died a week ago today. We're doing the funeral tomorrow. I'm afraid that after the funeral is over, it's really going to hit him and he's going to be inconsolable. Any advice? Email me!