It’s been two months since my mom went home, and I think each passing day (honestly, each ticking second on the clock) gets increasingly more unbearable.
Have you ever watched dogs, when they think they hear a noise? Their ears perk up and move with each sound, and all of their senses stay focused on the unseen. They wait with unmatched focus to see who or what is coming around the corner.
Some days feel like that for me. Like I’m just fighting the battles in front of me with that belief that she’s right around the corner and will be back soon.
And I can’t even begin to describe the deep cutting pain when I have to remind myself that she won’t be here for my life on this side of Heaven. That this isn’t just a few weeks where she’s away but will be back to make things better and help me walk through this.
Because she’s the person who I need to walk me through this intense pain and growing grief. My mom is the most gracious and compassionate person. I need her to sit on the couch with me and hear me wail and question everything. I need her to listen the way she does to all of my doubts and to hold me as I process the trauma that’s occurred over the last two years. I need her to tell me it’s okay that I can’t do it all. That of course I don’t know how to handle this. To embrace me so that I can just breathe and take a break from the new “normal” that is ANYTHING but. To give me the grace to be right where I am- sad, tired, confused, and full of doubt. To remind me that even though God feels distant- and oftentimes these days, downright cruel- that He does have purpose for this pain and for my life.
But, she’s not here.
Cancer steals a lot of things. Obviously, I feel it’s robbed the greatest treasure of my life, my mom and best friend. But it’s an ugly battle that creeps into every crevice of life once it’s diagnosed.
The trauma and pain of the last two years is fresher than most memories in my mind of my dear mama. It’s really hard for me to recall moments and memories from before she was sick. Over the last two years, our relationship had to change based on our circumstances. She’s always been the person who picked up every phone call, who held me when I didn’t think I could make it, and the one who prayed me through many dark days. It was my greatest honor to do that for her. To serve her in a way that only this battle would allow me to. To fall on my knees on her behalf. To carry her when she couldn’t stand- both literally and figuratively. To comfort her and encourage her through intense pain and confusion. To put my needs or desires second to hers. She’s done that for me more times than I could ever count, and this season allowed me the greatest opportunity- to do that for her.
In a lot of ways, I lost a mom two years ago. She told me that once. That she missed being mine and Mary Claire’s mom. She missed being the one to call us and ask us how we were doing. She missed getting to go out to eat or just driving us around. She missed being normal and not being so tired all the time.
We lived in the hope that “this too shall pass”. We fought through the hard days with the confidence that the Lord gave us over and over that the healing was coming, and she would live to tell of the miracle. We lived with freedom that there were more memories, more moments, and more celebrations ahead. It wasn’t something that we conjured up on our own strength. We sat under the heaviness of doctors describing timelines and scary circumstances. Over and over again, we returned to the Word in grief. We leaned on army of family, friends, and spiritual leaders who prayed and sought the Lord over and over again. He reminded us that His sovereignty was bigger than our impossible circumstances. And each time- through prayers, visions, dreams, and especially reading the Word- we were confirmed in the confidence that His purposes for her life were not yet finished.
And that’s what I’ve struggled with most- this story feels unfinished. I know my mom knows the voice of her Heavenly Father. I’m confident that Jesus speaks to me. I know my family, my mom’s best friends, and my spiritual mentors seek Him and His voice. We lived in the Scripture He gave us, Romans 4:18-22, which says,
“18 Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, “So shall your offspring be.”[a] 19 Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead.20 Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, 21 being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised. 22 This is why “it was credited to him as righteousness.”
None of us saw this ending coming based on what the Lord spoke to us. Our eyes saw the realities like Abraham’s age and Sarah’s empty womb in the likes of more flaring lights on scans and the physical toll of cancer’s control over my mom’s body. But we hoped against all hope and believed God is who He says He is. Just as He asked us to. And if you knew the magnitude of family, friends, and even strangers who prophesied and spoke of the Lord’s word to them about my mom’s healing, you would stand dumbfounded and disappointed with us.
We didn’t get the goodbyes. We didn’t have that moment of clarity towards the end where she spoke to us. We didn’t see a lot of what we thought and believed were promised to come to fruition. In the months since He took her home, life has been even harder. Challenging circumstances and battles galore. I feel abandoned by Him in a lot of ways, during the time I need Him most.
I’m not throwing away my faith. I’ve walked with Him long enough and seen Him transform my life and the hearts of the people around me to know that His work is still ongoing. But I am struggling with doubt and confusion. I’m wondering where He is and when He is going to show up in big ways and small for me and my family. I’m struggling with not being able to hear His voice or sense His presence. I’m asking Him to go before me and trusting that He does NOT leave me nor forsake me. But, my day to day would describe otherwise.
I know my mom would tell me to be right where I am. That my relationship with Jesus is just that- a relationship. And relationships are complicated.
I need your prayers more than I can describe. My family needs your words and thoughts and cries to the Lord on our behalf so desperately. As we walk through the journey of grief, processing trauma, and missing my sweet mama so intensely, I ask for your patience as we adjust to this new life. I ask for your compassion- to meet us where we are on the good days and bad. I ask for your prayers, so that we still start to see glimpses of God’s purpose in the midst of these trying days.
I’m thankful for those that love me and serve me so well. Those that will drop anything to make sure I’m eating, sleeping, or getting through the day. I’m grateful for my people who send me gifts and letters in the mail just to let me know they’re thinking about me, and I so appreciate the texts just to check in. I’m thankful for the people who recognize when I’m having a hard time and just need a moment to grieve. My counselor reminds me that these people and their kindness are physical evidence of God’s love for me, so I’m choosing to see them this way.
The truth is- I miss Him. I know the Lord hasn’t changed, but I’m so confused about His lovingkindness or why He wasn’t the Healer or Promise Keeper on this side of Heaven for my mom. It’s going to be a process of grieving and learning to really trust Him as my ultimate safe place again. I know He’ll lead me there, and He’s okay that I take my time.
And more than anything, I miss my mom. Her smile. Her laugh. Her stories. Her prayers. Her wisdom. Her voice. Her guidance. Her hugs. Her kisses goodnight. I only have peace knowing that she’s with her first love, Jesus, and absolutely relishing in worship in Paradise. I can’t wait for the day we reunite, and I can begin to understand some of the purpose in this season.
xox
ellie
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