Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

I could write about graduation being less than 17 hours away (because oh my goodness, I’m so ready!) but really that anticipation is not the most pressing emotion going through me at this moment. What’s really going through me is the reality of you not being here. I had just been babysitting this evening and came home to a dark house. Granted, half the time when you were still here the house was dark when I came home late, but you were always somehow up to greet me. Sometimes you’d be in the living room waiting and watching TV, and sometimes (the more startling and freaky times) you’d just appear from your room, popping up behind me right as I start up the stairs. Geesh, when you did that with your quiet “how was it tonight?” whisper, I just about had a heart attack every time. Seriously Mom, I was getting home late, and had just spent hours putting all of my energy and attention to young kids and then the long (because of my sleepiness) drive home, and you want to sneak up behind me in the dark and whisper in my ear?? I don’t know how well you thought that out, but it–
I was going to say how much it annoyed me or something to that effect, but I couldn’t. Because now that you weren’t there to scare the heebie-jeebies out of me, it made the walk to my room disappointing. I don’t expect nor desire for Dad to wait up because we both know how he can barely stay awake at 5 o’clock in the evening (I say that in love, of course) because he works so hard for us and I am grateful, and I know Grannette is still awake, but she never hears me come in during the day all loud and boisterous, much less at night when I’m trying to be quiet in order not to wake anyone asleep. You were the mom. Always watching out for us. Always there for us. It’s not like I can’t handle walking into my own house in the dark; it’s just the little things that are starting to make your absence more real. And I know with words like these–and especially with things like graduation coming up–people are going to say things like “I know your mom is here with you” and/or “I know she’s watching” but the truth of it is that while I’ll always, always love you and have that place in my heart for you that only my mother can have, I know that you are not here. You are in Heaven. And honestly, you’re probably not watching either. If I know you even a little (and I’d hope that I do as your daughter), the one thing you ALWAYS had as #1 in your life was God. So I know that right now you’re worshipping Him and glorifying Him and kneeling at His feet and staring into His loving eyes and definitely NOT worrying about what’s going on down here because you know that we are in His hands and He loves you and us and because of His love for you and your love for Him that you continue to profess and will for eternity, He will take care of the next desires and passions of your heart: your family and friends.
Talking about all of that reminded me of the song “It Is Well” and that one line where he says “Oh Lord haste the day when my faith shall be made sight”. That is how I feel often. Not that I would take myself from this life God has planned for me any moment before the moment He has ordained as my own home-going. But that desire to be with Him is that same desire that Paul talks about in looking to things “unseen” (2 Cor. 4) and “above” (Col. 3) in order to shift our focus as Christians from the secular successes such as popularity and monetary value, rather than spiritual growth and the spreading of the Gospel (our sole purpose on earth). Actually, and I know I’ve told you about this before, I just find it amazing to think about how we as Christians on earth have ONE job: to share the Gospel. It is the only thing we cannot do in Heaven. Yes, all humans were made to glorify God as His creations, but Christians have that other special purpose in common with all other Christians. It’s why God doesn’t take us to be with Him immediately after our profession of faith. He could, and He can take us anytime He wants to (as He showed by your very unexpected departure from this world) but often He leaves us longer in order to use us to further His Gospel. Talk about humbling and honoring! Anyway, it’s getting kind of late so I better wrap up this letter.
Only 16 hours now! I love you, Mom, and miss you immensely (you taught me that word:)).

Your daughter,
Hannah