Heavy yet Hopeful

I spoke about my Mom today with a complete stranger as if she were still alive. I didn't even realize I was doing it until after our conversation was over. I suppose I will continue to do that from time to time. Seems like a pretty normal mistake to make considering the countless conversations I've had about my Mom even when she was still alive on this earth.  I use the word "normal" loosely as nothing about my current situation seems "normal," but it was pretty standard for me to speak of my Mother often as I was always so proud of her. 

The evidence of her impactful life continues to make itself known as we slowly go through her belongings. This is my least favorite venture since her passing. Everything smells like her. I know that might bring comfort to some but I haven't quite figured out what it does for me. Yet I come across the most amazing things that bring peace and comfort. Most recently, we discovered her prayer journals. Pages and pages of names written down sometimes with a verse or a song lyric to follow - just names - no major explanations - just names. I imagine her praying over them and the stories and requests they represent. Faithfully praying - it was a constant and persistent practice in her life. If you are reading this your name is probably one of many in the sea of names in her prayer books.  Every now and then between the pages of people she was praying over she would make a journal entry or write down a thought or devotion. These findings are the most precious discoveries to a daughter grieving the loss of such a close companion and confidant. To hear her thoughts again in these notations has been such a blessing. Oh, how I have missed our discussions. The curiosity she expressed at every thought or revelation I may have had. It was such a funny thing. My mom was always so inquisitive into my thoughts despite the fact that she had so many of her own and had so much wisdom to offer me. I looked forward to it all. We had the most amazing conversations. She never made me feel unheard or that she wasn't always learning from me too, which is hard to imagine as I looked up to her so much. I wonder if she knew how much I looked up to her? She reminds me of this verse in Proverbs, "She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue (Prov. 31:26)." You can imagine how much value I find in coming across anything she wrote down. I wish there was more but I'm so grateful for what she left behind that has helped me trudge through this heaviness. It's an inexplicable thing when the person who'd help carry you through your grief is no longer in your vicinity. She walked alongside me through so much and not having her now seems very unfamiliar. I can't help but be thankful for the landmarks she has left for me to follow, in the form of her Bible margin scribbles, old birthday cards or words of wisdom I can hear her saying to me. 

Someone once said the loneliest path you will ever take is the one down the road of grief. It does feel that way. Probably because it's such an individual process. And although we will all face it one day, if we haven't done so already, everyone will experience it differently and I've learned to accept that. I've learned to understand the isolation that happens in grief. Life moves on for most and it's easy to feel cut off from the world, forgotten or misunderstood. Our connections with our loved ones are unique and no one can really know how you feel despite our human nature to make the attempt at it. Although I still find myself avoiding certain tasks and places and am certain people are probably avoiding me as well -  I mean it's all so uncomfortable and awkward at times; I know that I cannot escape or avoid His love, mercy and grace that has encompassed me. Oswald Chambers has the most profound quote I've found on this matter. "When God gets us alone through suffering, heartbreak, temptation, disappointment, sickness, or by thwarted friendship - when he gets us absolutely alone, and we are totally speechless, unable to ask even one question, then He begins to teach us." (Insert collective exhale here).