On the Anniversary of My Mother’s Death

Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. It’s been four years  she has not been close enough to touch and yet every single day I have felt her presence in my life.

In the last months before she died I learned a lot about my faith – in her, in me and in God.

I have written and rewritten this blog. I wanted to tell you how crazy and miraculous and horrible and beautiful it was as she moved from this life into the next one but the words pale in comparison to the experience.

I wanted you to know that she had this amazing faith in God and because of her I had this amazing faith in God and that in the end she leaned on my faith as she wrestled with some new truths about how all this life and death stuff worked.

For months I told her about her dead loved ones that were around her, holding her and easing her pain. She loved the stories but I suspected she believed they were more stories than fact until…

The days before she died she started to see them. All of them. She was in awe. She was happy. There was her mom and dad, her sisters and brothers — all the people she had loved that had crossed over waiting to embrace her.

I wanted to tell you that when she finally crossed over life felt dark and hard. If I didn’t have children I don’t think I would have had the will to get out of bed.

Mostly I just wanted you to know that this amazing woman existed and I miss her so much and it’s ok. I can look back on her death and see how many gifts it gave me – in faith and resilience.

And I guess I wanted you to know all that because right now someone you love may have just crossed over, or is getting ready to cross over and I want you to know they will be greeted by all the people that loved them.   They will be at peace.

And your heart is probably breaking and that sucks. But here is what I promise you. It gets better.   Slowly, very slowly, you will weave together moments of joy. At first they may be weeks or months apart but you will experience true and complete joy again if you allow it.

And as you weave those moments together your life will become full.   The grief may feel big and permanent but it will fade. It will never go away completely but it will become a scar. One of those silvery scars that glistens when the light hits it.

That scar will change you. It will change the way you look at the world. It will change the way you show up for people. It will change what you value and who gets your time and attention.

I can say now, four years later, I am a better person because of my journey with my mother through her death.

But even as I write these last few sentences nothing I say can truly express what I want you to know about this journey. Because this journey was mine and yours will be completely different.   So I guess I’ll just leave it at this.

You are not alone.

And even though we may not have met my heart knows you. And today, for the first time in four years, instead of feeling sorry for myself on this horrible beautiful anniversary I am praying for you. I am sending you light and love and asking God to hold you in Her arms so you know you are safe and very much loved.