Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

Gee, I’m at a loss for words. Fancy that—me, Hannah Elizabeth Jones, at a loss for words. I’m numb. With an undertone of longing. And a shade of anger. And a light sprinkle of joy? Maybe? But it’s overcome by the glossing of pain. This is it. Two hours until a new year begins. A year completely devoid of your life. Well, on this side of eternity. A year for you in the arms of your Savior, leaving the rest of us a new year to fend for ourselves.
Oh Lord, where has my hope and faith gone?
This New Year’s post should look something like this:

Dear Mom, Here’s to the end of a wonderful year of memories, when tragedy struck but God saw us through it all and will continue into this new year. When our weakness has become His strength, when we learned to depend upon His goodness, His faithfulness, His love for us. You get to celebrate forever with our Creator, while we merely plug away the years until we can join you in Heaven! This year has been a roller coaster, but we always end in His hands!

But no. Mine doesn’t. It won’t. Not because I don’t believe those happy sentiments and truths, but because I don’t feel the joy and hope of them. The only faith and hope I have right now is that my hold on the feet of Jesus won’t break and I won’t completely fall away. Maybe I should fake it until I make it—it really does work (I know from experience)—but I don’t want to. Maybe I want to be angry, be in pain, cry my eyes out just a little longer. Maybe when the clock strikes twelve I’ll feel like opening my Bible, drinking in His truth and light, finding joy in the new day, the new year. But for now, at a quarter past ten, I don’t feel like it. I don’t want to. Let me cry for you, Mom. Let me sear this love I have for you in the membranes of my heart so that I never forget who you were and still are in my life. The thought of having to face the future—2017, a second graduation, my wedding, my first baby, and so on—without you breaks my heart. Because, even if I didn’t tell you everyday, I love you so much, Mom, and you meant the world to me.

Your daughter,
Hannah