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Eight

February 12, 2015

Eight years. My mom has been gone for eight years.

She was too young when she died. It was so unexpected.

These are the things I tell myself, again and again. Stating the obvious, again and again.

I sometimes wish that I had known it was coming. It wouldn’t have made it better. Not significantly. There could never have been a “good” scenario that ended in my mother’s death.

I haven’t slept all night. Maybe that is because this is when she died. Maybe it is because I am bad at sleeping. Maybe it is because I am a night owl… like my mom.

I feel like I know her better today than I did then. I understand so many things now that were beyond my grasp when she was alive. I was younger… less mature… less experienced. Now I have spent a few years being crushed by chronic illness and haunted by the accusing demons that have sought to steal my identity, my voice, and my hope.

I wish I had understood her struggles then like I understand them now. Like I will understand them in 20 years. I could have loved her so much better. I could have been compassionate. I could have been less obstructed by hurt and offense.

I was barely alive when she was alive. My spirit, my emotions… my whole self was so buried and so dull. I was not the person I am today… after so much healing and so many encounters with God’s faithfulness and ability to keep me.

Ben doesn’t know her. It seems so wrong that he doesn’t know her. That he only knows the things I have told him or the pieces of her that are in me.

I needed a mom every day of the last eight years. I needed a mom who was alive. I needed an advocate. I needed a voice of truth and encouragement. I needed comfort. I needed guidance. I needed someone who was faithfully praying for me. I needed someone who knew me.

I had all of those things. I had them more perfectly in God. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t need her.

I especially needed her in these last few years. I needed to be reminded of who I was. I needed my misery to be acknowledged and understood. I needed the truth to be… shoved down my throat. (Less room for all of the lies.) I needed love and perspective.

My grief is different. Sometimes it seems easier. Often, it doesn’t. But I know that it is different. I am different. The world she isn’t in is different.

I am grateful to remember the resurrection. Jesus… the FIRSTborn from the dead. The one who died and defeated the grave. The confirmation of greater promises than we can imagine living.

I will likely say some of these same things after another year has passed. But the words will mean different things. I will be different.

I miss her so much. I will see her again. I can’t see her yet.

I am in pain and I am full of hope.

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2 comments


  1. Heartbreaking. Eloquently Written. 💟



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