Life Without Mother

Dear Friend,

If you know me, you know how averse I am to conflict. Even the smallest one is sure to make my heart skip even the tiniest of beats. By God’s grace in His kindness, He has worked with me on facing that fear head on and trusting every small disagreement (whether substantial or simply preferential) to Him and the opportunity for the kind of communication that deepens a relationship. And, for the most part, I’ve learned to appreciate if not even look forward to a little conflict here and there to further deepen and grow my relationships.

However, that’s with communication between two parties (and within the guidance of the Holy Spirit, praise Him). So, what does one do when one is in conflict with oneself *ahem* herself?

In a monthly check-in call with a dear friend, she asked how I was feeling — regarding grief in particular. At the time, and in complete honesty, I shared some thoughts about it and a general feeling of… well… nonchalance, perhaps? Truly, though I’ve mentioned my mom a few times over the past weeks (and months), it’s been primarily in casual conversation. I haven’t really paused to dwell on memories and imaginings.

Today, I did for a moment. And it was difficult. After all these months of being okay, I felt — dare I say — guilty for pausing to remember? As though I was inviting back into my heart and mind all of the depression and anxiety of years past. And yet, on the flip of the same coin, I felt guilty for feeling guilty!

As though I was wrong to feel any inclination not to dwell on the fond and integral memories of my past.

It’s this conflict of not wanting to erase her from my day-to-day thinking… and yet — may I be honest? — I’ve greatly enjoyed the past months of healing and experiencing freedom from debilitating depression and sadness and frustration over my mental state. (If you know, you know. It’s a time.)

Perhaps ironically enough, I’d like to write a book on this experience. The Biblical framework for grief that reveals the freedom we have to engage with our emotions in God’s grace and goodness (as I’ve done some exploring over past letters). Meanwhile, here I am, living it out.

And, may I say, with absolutely no irony, that I’m grateful to live it out at Christmas. What a better time to live in the tension of sorrow and joy, darkness and light?

As I shared with another friend, I think with every holiday season in the midst of transition there is a touch of grief. But, it’s a bittersweetness in the joys that come with transitions. The loss of one tradition. The gaining of another. We could only have the new by making way in the old. And so the very sting of grief over the loss of one transition provides the foundation for the sweet joy in the exploration of new memories.

In winter’s early setting of the sun, if there’s one thing we know of the Christmas season: the lights we string up bring much joy to the otherwise inescapable darkness of night.

So, even as tears may fall, they hold the bittersweet tension of lamentation and celebration in advent of my Savior’s arrival.

In ever-eager expectation,
Hannah