To the Motherless on Mother's Day
I see you. I see your eyes brighten as your precious children hand you over the handmade cards, flowers and crafts. I see you smile at the faces smiling back at you at the brunch in your honor. I see you look around for that one missing face. I see you holding it together for your family. I see you.
It's been four years. Four long Mother's Days without my mother. She passed away into the arms of her Savior on October 18, 2014. There was no long illness... there wasn't a diagnosis... there was no time to say goodbye... there was a drunk driver... and a pedestrian... and cardiac arrest. There was a phone call from an Officer and a drive to the hospital with the belief that she was okay (the officer did what was in my best interest; he did not tell me she was gone). There was the worst day of my life.
I see you. I see you as you put your children down for a nap. I see you deeply inhale their sweet smell. I see your eyes well up wishing she could smell them, too. I see you walk quietly from their room and into your own. I see you.
Today will be difficult. No matter if you're weeks or years in. The hurt that comes from being motherless is present every day you look into your children's eyes. For the first few years, I wanted to celebrate Mother's Day in a way that had nothing to do with her. I chose to stay as far away from those memories as I could and I honestly believe that was a natural way to deal with the grief. We "celebrated" by going places and doing things that wouldn't trigger. If that's where you are, sister, know you are not alone in hoping not to think about her today.
I see you. I see you sink onto your floor. I see your eyes fill with tears and your body give in to the big emotions. I see you finally allow it to consume you. I see you.
Over the years, the need to avoid those memories and thoughts about her has gone away. I have gotten to a place where the pain doesn't need to be avoided. Going to her favorite restaurant, being given sunflowers, listening to her favorite 90's country music, is a way to honor and feel close to her. I don't need to avoid those memories but instead can press into them. You can press into them. And when you do, and when its painful, lean on your friends and family that love you and want to hold you up. You aren't meant to do this life alone.
I see you. I see you pick yourself up off the floor. I see you wipe the tears from your eyes. I see you exhale and allow it to move through. I see you smile. I see you.
I have never been more thankful for a God that promises life after death. Because He took what was owed to me upon Himself, I will see her again. I pray over your heart today, sweet momma. I pray that the Lord would strengthen you and uphold you. God is not far from your pain. Remember that our Father in Heaven knows the hurt and sting of loss better than anyone.
Rest in His love today, sister.
If I can pray for you today, comment below. Even just your name. It would be my honor to cover you in prayer.