Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

April. It has come at last… A year ago today and the year before and the year before, since the year I first recognized April as my birthday month, I entered the month of April in excited anticipation of my birthday, even though my birthday came at the very end of the month. There was just something about the calendar reaching April—something that made my insides warm and happy. Even if no big party was planned (such as my last couple of years), I looked forward to my birthday because you always made it special. Even if I told you I didn’t want a celebration or any specific gift, you always managed to find or plan something that made it as enjoyable, if not even more enjoyable, than the year before. I always loved my birthday, and even when my birth date (4-28) would show up anywhere (such as a clock, TV channel, etc.), the warm, fuzzy feeling would course through me for a moment. Yes, maybe it’s selfish of me to love my birthday so much, but especially after middle school, it was a reminder that I was important to you. The way that you made my birthday special in little or big ways each year showed that even though I may have struggled back in middle school, you saw me and you loved me.
But today: April 1st, 2017. Today I did not wake up with a warm feeling of anticipation for my birthday. And what’s worse is I had tried to prepare myself the past eleven months, knowing it would come and I would not allow grief to overcome celebration. And yet here I am. I woke up, saw the word “April” on my phone and bam, it hit. Like a weight inside me. How can eleven months have passed so quickly? How am I supposed to get through the next month?
Today I was an introvert. I woke up super late (to my defense, it was the first time in like two and a half months) and then a close friend dragged me to the baseball game. I stayed for an hour with her and some others. But then I felt trapped and suffocated and I just had to get out of there. I came back to my dorm and did my laundry (so I wasn’t completely unproductive today), did my Bible study, finished another book, watched a movie, practiced my guitar for a bit and now am writing you. At the game, of course none of the others were really aware of how I was feeling and I wouldn’t want my presence to keep people from talking, but most of them mentioned getting calls from or calling their mothers about this, that and the other. It hit me hard today. Normally it’s not that bad, but today, I was already a bit down. Mom, I so wish I could call you. This letter is so overdue—it’s missing a good month and a half of plenty of things I could have talked about but just kept putting off writing down. On my mission trip, one of my partners and I had the privilege of leading two guys to Christ! I’ve never done that before! And then coming back, I grew even closer to two girls here whom I see almost every day now. A couple of weeks ago, I had a really bad week when I actually cried my three tears almost everyday for a solid five days. And various other fun experiences in between that I wish I had written about. But even more so, I wish I could have told you over the phone or over FaceTime. I hate that I can’t. And no matter how many times I picture you walking through my dorm room door while visiting me or showing you around campus to my favorite places, it will never be a reality. That hurts. Yes, the joy from my last letter is still resonating in my heart, and will be prominent tomorrow just in time for church, but tonight, my heart aches. I want you back, Mom. I want our family back.
I’m also understanding that the only way to fill that void is Jesus. He satisfies what things of the world cannot. Remember how I told you in my last letter that I wrote a song? Well, I’ve written two more since and am working on two others (one is half done already). Singing praises to Him is what I turn to now when I’m struggling and He in turn fills my heart with joy, which then makes me sing even stronger! What’s it like singing there right next to Him?

Your daughter,
Hannah