It's been two months since my mother left this earth, and it's been just as I feared it would be. Sad, melancholy and anything but fun. I don't want to go on and on about it every time I'm here, but it's where I am in my life and I can't ignore it or deny it. But it's not easy. Because if it wasn't hard enough to lose Mom, the added heartache of watching Carrie battle for her life makes it so much worse. And as I see it happening right in front of me, I think I understand why Mom's not here.
Standing by helplessly watching someone you love fight the hardest battle of her life, is the most difficult thing I've ever experienced. It's not easy to watch her walk it out, even though she is braver than I've ever dreamed of being. And as I see this mission that Carrie's on right now, I don't know if Mom could take it. In fact I know she couldn't.
I'm not sure if Billie June and Jesus had a secret plan for her exit, but it just feels like she knew she wasn't going to be here much longer. If she DID know, she kept it a secret from the rest of us. In hindsight, the fact that she was hurrying to get her Christmas gifts completed before Thanksgiving, may have been a clue. She tried her hardest to get all of her shopping finished and everything wrapped. In the weeks after she passed, it made us curious about her frantic pace.
There were other signs as well and it's made us wonder what she knew. The look on her face when someone mentioned an upcoming important event, or a special moment we wanted her to be in attendance for. She seemed to want to say she wasn't promising anything to us.
I know she realized we would all miss her like crazy. She knew we wanted her with us and to make this life with her in it last longer. But we didn't get our way.
This past week has been especially hard for some reason. I don't know why. But Owen and I had a moment when we both felt it and knew we had to move on, or be reduced to puddles of tears.
But I can't outrun this. And I can't hide from it. This feeling of loss follows me around as if someone attached it to my backside like a little red wagon. Following me wherever I go as a reminder that I've lost her. I can feel the separation as if I could touch it with my hands. And with that comes the realization once again that our afternoon conversations will be no more. There is a Billie June sized emptiness in my midst. I'm thankful I have so many remembrances from our 58 years together, but I'm selfish. I wanted more.
My memories will have to be enough now.
I realized a couple of weeks ago I was the last person to talk to her when she was in a coherent state. That night at the hospital I went in to tell her goodnight, not knowing it was goodbye. I didn't know it would be our last quiet moment together. Our last conversation. And I will never forget it. The look she gave me, her last look at my face. It seemed as if she wanted to tell me something. How I wish I had stayed longer. How I wish she had told me what she wanted to say to me. But the next day she had taken that turn, not to come back to us.
So as I move forward without her, I have to trust God. I know he will fix my heart, my hurt. But that doesn't include bringing her back. Learning to live without her is the only thing to do. Because I don't want to feel this way forever. I want more. More happiness. More joy. More fun times. Even if I don't feel it now, because this place of loss is a hard place.
So when I often feel the physical presence of my mother's absence, I have to remember of God's faithfulness, mercy, love and grace. I know it will see me through. It has to, because I have nothing else.
On this first Valentine's day without her, I remember my mother's love and it makes me grateful.
Grateful she was mine.
Of all the millions of mothers in the world....
God gave her to me.
Oh how he loves me...
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