Reflections on Grief (1.5 years in)

A year and a half of living life without my mother by my side has come and gone.

I was aware of the day when it came, and I was intentional about thinking and reflecting on mom, my grief and this part year and a half.

But I didn't say much about it.
I didn't know what to say.

As I've thought about it I've realized a few things.

First off, its still hard. Really hard. I don't notice the grief breathing down my neck constantly, like I did right after she died. But in the moments of quiet reflection my heart still misses her immensely. Our family of three now has to fill in the gaps and do all of the little things that she used to do, like grocery shopping and dishes and making sure we check in with the relatives even when life is busy.

Who do I go to when I have a question about our family tree? Mom knew everything about our family, and if she didn't know, she knew where to find it.

Who do I go to when I am hungry but so don't want to make myself anything? Mom always had something prepared, even if it was just a cheese sandwich.

Who do I share my odd love and curiosity about celebrities lives with? Mom never thought me weird when I bought 'People' magazine because a favorite singer/actor/famous person was featured on the front.

Its the little things that I miss. The things that were so easy to overlook while she was here have now become precious memories.

Second, I still have to explain her death to people.

Its not anyone's fault.

Starting a new job I knew it would come up sooner or later and I dreaded having to explain that my mom is gone. Because my emotions in the moment of explanation are often unpredictable.

I ran into an old neighbor that I haven't seen in years the other day. Naturally, she asked how my parents were. I hemmed and hawed and said '...well my mom passed away about a year and a half ago... cancer had spread...' and I got choked up.

Its awkward explaining that 'I live with my dad and sister'... there is an obvious missing piece. And I explain once again that mom is gone.

I suppose I've grown accustomed to it over the last 18 months, but its still difficult and awkward to explain. And yet, there is also a relief in explaining my situation. I feel vulnerable and yet deeply known. And that is what we all want, isn't it?

Third, sharing my story somehow heals (myself and others).

I don't understand the way God designed it all, but there is a definite healing and intimacy that comes when we authentically share our lives, even the awful parts with others.

So many times I've wanted to hide my story, not out of shame necessarily but mostly out of a supposed 'self preservation.' I didn't want to relive the hurt. But oddly enough, I never hurt more when I shared. Rather, it has always placed a little healing touch into my heart. It has always been the thing that connected me most to other people. Pain has a way of doing that. Maybe its because we all have it, and its refreshing to see someone who understands. 

I suppose, at the end of the day I have learned that 'no man is an island' (thank you Tenth Avenue North). We're NOT meant to do this life alone.
Even when it feels like sharing will only bring more pain.
Even when it is scary and takes every ounce of courage and boldness.

Life is richer when we live as we were created to live and when we share our pain and brokenness. Because together, we can look to the one who holds the whole world in His hands.

Wonderful counselor.
Everlasting Father.
Prince of Peace.

I can't think of anyplace I'd rather be, than in His arms of love.