Life Without Mother

Dear Reader,

Yes, this one’s for you today. It felt a little impersonal to leave this without an addressee, but writing to Mom didn’t seem all that honest either.

Perhaps you may be interested to know, as a perfectionist, I see things as very black and white, right and wrong. Thus, I’ve often viewed my journey of grief (and all that came with it) through that lens. You’ve spent up to eight years following my thoughts, day-to-day experiences, memories, etc. Bored yet?

Just kidding.

This is the thing, every step of this journey has felt hard-fought. They have been hard-fought. Because every step has been taken with so much doubt. Trusting in the LORD through this abyss of uncertainty, while just praying for survival until the moment I can look back and see for myself the firm path He has kept me on.

There are times (like this week) when the anxiety over every step has felt overwhelming. Did you know, there are some days fear grips my heart to near immobilization over leaving my home? Sundays can be easier since I have to be at church at least. The rest of the week, if I have no meetings or outings planned, it can be so easy to simply stay home. And, when home, the stress doesn’t leave — no, it remains, clouding my entire day.

But, this week, I think I’ve had an epiphany in the midst of this anxiety: the fact that I fear leaving home. That the fear can easily follow me — expecting bad news.

Now, I suspect (though I’d like to talk to someone wiser than me in these things) that this anxiety and/or my response to it can be traced back to the very day my mom died. And — this is the good part that makes me hopeful — at the very least, noting this pattern can help me in strategies to not shutting down when this anxiety is triggered. (No, I haven’t quite determined if there is a specific trigger to it beyond my own tendency of procrastination that gets me in stressful situations.)

These are simply some preliminary thoughts. I will say, I have been largely successful in at least getting out of my apartment on even the worst of days. I have one or two coffee shops that are like my “home away from home” in the city, giving me easy trajectories to point my feet toward. Then, once I’m out, I can celebrate the victory.

A while ago — I believe within the first year or so of letters — I wrote about the curtains of unknowns. That each curtain hid some unknown that I would walk through on my journey through these partitions to His glorious Light waiting for me. Right now, it feels as though I’ve passed through so many of those opaque curtains.

These next ones seem brighter. A glimpse hidden behind less fabric. I look back to that first year, and I think by God’s grace I had more wisdom in words than experience. At least, I look back on some of the things I’ve written, and I’m rather amazed. Because I know that there have been more times since those musings that I’ve doubted the very truths I proclaimed. Yet, here I am, at least fourteen more curtains into this journey and now I see more light.

The hope of healing. The desire for healing. To move on. The realization that moving on does not mean forgetting or letting go of memories. Rather, to hold those memories in my back pocket — within reach, but not always taking up the use of my hands toward the other things God has for me.

And my heart now mourns more than Mom. It mourns what feels like lost time over the past eight years. It mourns the hurt and the missed opportunity. But, even in this mourning I am not without hope. For without the past eight years and His great, abundant goodness throughout, I would not be in this moment here and now. Without the pain, I would not realize just how gracious my LORD is in His persistence to move my feet along His path for me. To heal relationships, to grow my mind and skills, to keep me moving when I have felt so stuck.

To open the door when all I wanted was to stay Home.

Anyways, stay tuned for an update when I talk to someone wiser.

From behind curtain fourteen,
Hannah