Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

The past week or so, I’ve had you on my heart and mind. Not just the essence of you, but memories of that week. To be truthful, some weeks — really at random, for what’s so significant about February in the distant past? — it seems the memories are pressed into every waking moment. And sometimes in dreams as well. “Free” time becomes a bit less free. Or so it feels. Because, truthfully, the real freedom is in facing the memories. Remembering. Crying when needed. Laughing when I can. Sharing them when friends ask.

Not sharing, trying so hard not to cry and only to laugh, or smile, or just “be okay” becomes the cage. I’m so grateful for psalms like 88 and 86 as two examples of grieving and needy prayers. Especially 88. It begins with “LORD, You are the GOD who saves me.” Immutable truth. Followed by an entire psalm of lament that finishes with the accusation of GOD, “You have taken from me friend and neighbor — darkness is my closest friend.” What an incredible encouragement our LORD provides in this. It is the foundational claim that GOD saves on which our sorrow is poured out and comforted. The truth of His character secures the reality of His gentle hand catching every tear.

There have been times when Psalm 88 is my psalm. Times I felt alone in my grief, in spite of the well-known fact that I am not the only one who grieves your absence. Times I still feel alone. But, we’re working on that. This “gotta be strong” complex goes back further than your death, to be honest. So, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that even my best intentions at full honesty with family and friends have not been successful. Truth is, the real honesty I’ve lacked is with myself at times.

This past week, I’ve tried to be honest with myself. With the LORD. Even with friends, who can hold me both accountable to that honesty and speak the truth that I so struggle to believe: my emotions are not a burden to them. My friendship is not a burden to them. My presence is not a burden to them. (I told the friend who told me these truths that I’d “really try hard to believe that”.) And it’s getting easier. For one thing, the multiple friends the LORD has provided over the years who keep telling (and showing) me those truths. But also in simply ministering to others over the past seven-ish years — as I told that friend, I would never consider or want someone to believe their hurt, pain, anger included, are burdensome or wrong for simply feeling them. No, it’s what I do with those feelings that makes the difference. Do I exercise self-control with my anger? Recognize when I need to ask forgiveness for it? Do I let my hurt and pain paralyze me or motivate me to active sin against others? Do I sit in feelings when I need to take a stand?

I used to sit. I used to let my hurt and pain color my perceptions of others. Sometimes I still do. But, the LORD is restoring my sight. I’m not just seeing grey anymore. I’m seeing bright green, vibrant pink, fiery red, shades of yellow (yes, even the occasional drop of orange here or there), and I’m seeing blue. The deep teal sea blue of an unknown future just waiting for discovery, the clear sky blue of a future with no limits, the playful cerulean blue of a future filled with laughs and love, and the steel gray blue where my past collides with my future — the moments of sadness that give the vivacity of my future it’s bountiful color.

Right now, I’m seeing a bit of that overcast blue. I’m sad. I miss you. I miss the laughs and familiarity we shared. I miss the future I thought I’d have with you.

But I don’t miss the child I was. I do grieve the time wasted thinking I had to be strong. The friendships I missed out on. The intimacy I could have shared, the testimony I could have walked. But I don’t miss the ignorance. I grieve the truth I didn’t believe and the lies I did. The relationships broken on the back of those untruths.

For once, Mom, I’ll say something that may sound like an oxymoron considering what I’ve shared in the past: Thank the LORD that time doesn’t stop! I’m changing! I’m growing! He faithfully pursues and cleanses me. He brings me to obedience — to repentance and pressing on in righteousness.

He’s helped me to see color again. And we both know how I adore the color blue.

Your daughter,
Hannah