Updated: Nov 3, 2021
Over and over and over again, I’ve sat and looked at my computer screen. Nothing but crippled fingers and tears slowly rolling down my cheeks and onto my keyboard.
What once was my outlet, the thing I love most - has become one of the hardest things for me to do. I miss her. I miss my proofreader more than any words could ever fully express.
I pulled into my driveway today, the driveway of the dream home mom just bought and just sat in my car for hours. Crying as I looked at the empty garage that typically held her car. It’s not there, which means no one is home. Mom was always home.
I finally got tired enough to come inside and I fell to the floor as I looked across the kitchen onto the circle kitchenette table sitting in the corner. The chair to the far right was empty, when I’m use to mom always sitting in it at 1:21pm as I walk in the door and she’s ready to hear about my day. I sit down in that exact chair and tears build up again as I sit in the silence and realize that the same feeling I felt in that moment is what she must have felt everyday while we were out. Alone.
Day after day, she sat in that far right chair in this dark house all by herself while we were at work, church, with friends or even just out running errands. Mom was confined to this house the majority of the time because mom was confined to a dying body.
My heart broke as I experienced for a few seconds what mama must’ve experienced for long moments.
I’m sorry mom.
At every turn is a reminder that she’s not here anymore.
I can’t even count the amount of times I have by habit called her the second my butt touches my car seat, because that’s when we talked most. On my way to and from work, there was never a time I didn’t talk to or FaceTime mom.
I was reminded when I saw the blue bottle of dish soap dad brought home from the store. For the past 10 years mom has always bought the green bottle because she knows that the smell of the blue one makes me gag.
I was reminded when the boys were here and driving me nuts so I stormed into my parents room to complain, only to find an empty bed with her not in it.
I’m reminded every time I fill up my gas tank. Mom use to meet me at the gas station every Thursday after rehearsal and pay to fill my tank for me. She was always shocked and proud that I would drive in every which direction to make sure that I had everyones favorite snacks ready for the weekend, so she wanted to make sure I never payed for my gas when I got home that night. She wanted to make sure that someone was taking care of me while I cared for others.
I was reminded when shopping at Trader Joes and getting so excited so see that the Pumpkin Cringle Danish was back for the season.Mom had asked me to check if it was back every single Friday since she had tried it the first time, and I realized that it wasn’t back just quite in time for her to have it again.
These are just a few of countless moments. Moments that are a sharp reminder for us of what’s no longer.
Eventually the wheels have to keep turning and life continues on. Life begins to move on without her, and people slowly begin to stop asking. What’s our agonizing daily reality quickly becomes just a faded memory for others. What is so fresh and painful for us, is old news for everyone around us and we're left feeling the weight of it all on our shoulders.
It’s this never ending fight in my brain. Having this spiritual peace that’s so strong, but this earthly anger that’s so so real. It’s selfish really. To be upset that she’s not here, but is there. That I don’t get to have her here with me, but that she’s sitting next to the father. It has been this internal struggle knowing that she’s very much so alive up there, honestly more full of life now than ever before, but knowing that I’ll live day to day in the reality of her being gone down here.
PEACE. True peace. Is something I’ve learned in this time, is only something that can come directly from the Lord. When the earthly feelings begin to overwhelm, He’s there to remind you of who is meant to carry it for you.
My mom is in the place she’s always wanted to be - at the feet of Jesus. As hard as that is to except, it brings me so much joy knowing that she’s living to the fullest capacity that anyone ever could. That she’s experiencing full freedom, healing, purpose, joy, and comfort. That the aroma of the Holy Spirit fills her nose and that she sits in the pure presence of the Lord. I could not ask for or give my mama anything better than that, or even slightly close to it. So as hard as my day to day is, I choose to see the blessing. I choose to release - and let mama receive.
Day by day. Minute by minute. Leaning in and trusting that His plan is so much bigger than mine, and that the beauty within it will slowly begin to reveal. Life is still so beautiful and blessings surround us everywhere we go. That is something I choose to see.
I miss you mama. It breaks my heart that you aren’t here to proofread this one - but my heart is quickly filled again knowing that you are seeing my words from a heavenly view this time.
I love you most.