365 days to normal?

 "You just gotta get through the first year!" I have heard this expression many times over the past year, along with other variations. I've heard people say this in movies and to others who have experienced death, but I've never really thought that deeply about it until I've had to. I've concluded something about this expression. It seems like someone tries to offer comfort while also pointing to their desire that you return to normal, and it's going to take 365 days to do so. Although I appreciate the sentiment and know it comes with good intentions, I can now confirm for you that nothing has returned to normal for me on this 20th day of February, one year after my Mom's death. 


My senior class advisor informed me that the first year of college would be the hardest. Plenty of baby books assured me that the first year of motherhood would come with the most challenges. And I am pretty confident that my first year on a new job came with the most significant learning curve. That "first-year" idea certainly rang true in all these contexts. I was secretly hoping that the first year after losing my Mom would come with a magical end to this gaping hole in my heart. She is all around me yet nowhere near me. She is with me, yet away. She is close, yet far. Always on my mind, forever in my heart but never again in my grasp. 


A couple of weeks ago, a young lady approached me in a coffee shop. She was staring at me from across the room for quite some time. It got awkward for a moment. Finally, she walked up to me. She said, "you remind me so much of my Mom. You look so much like her. I lost her five years ago, and I just wanted to tell you that you are beautiful, just like her." I felt an instant connection with this young girl. She couldn't have been more than 18 years old. She said she lost her Mom 5 years prior. You can do the math—what a brave young lady. 


I left that coffee shop so thankful! I'm not always thankful. Sometimes, I have self-pitying thoughts, wishing I had my Mom for another decade as I had always thought. I see people whose parents are 90 and 100 and wonder why it couldn't be the same for me. My daughter mentioned the other day she always thought Grandma would be around to see her off to college. We make wishes in our minds like that all the time. The reality is no time is enough time. Some people get more, and some people get less. It doesn't make any sense. On this day in that coffee shop, God sent me a blessing. He sent this young girl to remind me of how privileged I was to have Mom here for forty-four years of my life. When those moments come, I am overwhelmed by His goodness. I am overwhelmed at the way He comforts me in the day-to-day even though I don't deserve it. 


This would be one of those times I called my Mom to tell her my coffee shop story. There have been so many times over this year that I have needed to call her. During times of joy, happiness, stress, sadness, disappointment, and my Dad's death. She was always the first person I'd call. I try to imagine what she would say to me with different occurrences, events, and happenings. It's a new habit I hope I never let go of. I miss the sound of her voice, the silence in her listening, the love in her conversation, and the wisdom in her words. Her words were always filled with so much love and so much wisdom. 



I think of her in heaven now, with joy as the air she breathes, and although physically, my heart feels like it's in my stomach; intellectually, I am so happy for her, and I selfishly long for our reunion. 

My Mom saved all the cards we had given her. When I came across them, over and over again I had written, "Mom, thank you for everything. We couldn't do anything without you." Yet here I am, one year later, doing life without her.  She had this thing she would say to me all the time when I encountered mishaps, setbacks, or anything of the like. She would say, "Ya know what, Jam? Just take it from the Lord." So as I sit here writing this through tears, I choose to take it from the Lord just like my mother taught me. You were my best teacher Mom. A million college degrees could not replace the lessons I've learned and continue to learn through your godly life example. Thank you for pointing me to the One who is going to continue to teach me how to live this life without you. 


"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us." Romans 8:18


"Tears are proper for believers—indeed they should be all the more copious, for Christians are more sensitively aware of every emotion, whether of joy or sorrow, than those who have known nothing of the softening and enlivening grace of God." 

-Alec Motyer



Sources:

J. Alec Motyer, The Message of Philippians, The Bible Speaks Today (IVP Academic, 1984), p 90.

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