Life Without Mother

I have not updated you, my dear readers, in a good while, and for this I apologize. My absence is not for lack of interest, but perhaps for lack of novel material. Lately life seems to be the same old, same old in the struggle department. I will say, the Lord has definitely been pulling back some layers in my life that were obscuring some solutions, and praise Him for that! (Though the peeling back of those layers was like when you have that little bit of skin that peels away right next to your finger nail–you know, when it feels as though a knife is trying to carve out your nail. Gruesome image I suppose, but true nonetheless.)
The same griefs keep pressing on my heart. And how many different ways can I express this ache of missing my mom? Only so many before I become monotonous and whiny. Battling through the same emotions since the spring of 2016–nearly two years ago now!–has put a pressure on my heart. I feel as though I should be over it all by now. Or at least feel as though I am coping.
In my life there is joy, there is peace, and there is contentment in Christ. But then there is also sorrow, anger, and shame that these two emotions continue to rear their heads at unpredictable times.
The second year anniversary since my mother’s death is only two months and six days away. C’mon Hannah, get your life together. You should have a handle on your emotions and not be angry or sad anymore. There is hope in Christ. She is not lost. She simply is not here for now.
I know that. I know I will see her again. I know that this life is a mere blink. I know eventually my dad, my sisters, my friends, and of course myself, will all have our times to leave this world. Life is not all about my mother–who she was to me and still is. Life is about Christ and knowing Him better, glorifying His name and making Him known.
And He is the first topic of conversation I love to explore. But my mother is a close second. (Or sometimes English, if I just came from my advanced grammar class… though often after I’ve attended this class there is nothing I want more than to be able to call my mother and express my love for English and how the Lord has just increased the passion I have for language.)
The people who surround me everyday probably don’t realize it, and this is probably because, unlike last year, I’ve refrained from continuing to talk about this constant ache. I don’t want it to be a big deal. And yet this ache permeates so much of my thought. My first instinct in receiving a good grade or having a wonderful conversation with someone or creating some new piece of literature (whether a song, poem, or addition to my novel) is to text my mom. But I can’t. So I text the next person that comes to mind depending on the subject, whether that’s my dad or one of my best friends or a special mentor in my life.
Of course, this is not placing any of these “second choices” any lower in my heart. It’s just that after years of coming home every day from school or church or wherever and Mom being the first person I’d encounter and therefore be the recipient of the news I had to share, it has been hard in breaking the habit.
But I thought I’d be over it by this time. Am I taking too long? Everyone says that grief looks different for everyone and everyone takes different amounts of time to heal. But if I know the hope that I have in Christ and have experienced His joy and peace immensely in my life, is it wrong that sometimes I still cry out, “Why? Why couldn’t I have her a little longer?” He never leaves me there. He shows me again and again His presence in my life, bringing me back to peace.
But is it wrong that sometimes I still go there? That sometimes I still cry? That she’s still constantly on my mind?
I don’t think so… Matthew 5:4 says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” And this certainly has been my experience in every instance of anger or sorrow.
And Psalm 73:26 says, “My flesh and heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” There have been so many times when I’ve had the opportunity to boast in Christ being strong in my weakness (as Paul puts it), bringing peace in the midst of pain and joy in the midst of suffering. That is probably one of my most favorite things to share with others is how Christ sustains me. I am nothing without Him.

Perhaps the problem does not lie in whether I still think of my mother, but whether those thoughts hinder my witness of who Christ is.