A Joyful Kind of Sad: Year 8 of Living Her Legacy
Eight years.
Eight years and yet it feels like yesterday.
Yesterday that I kissed her cheek.
Yesterday that I put on my Easter dress, the last dress she had seen me in, to wear to her funeral.
Yesterday that I realized that I had to grow up. By myself. (Naturally, miss independent came out.)
Then I reflect on all that has happened since then.
I really, truly have grown up.
I switched schools. We moved houses. I made amazing memories in high school. I was president of a service club. I became a head teacher at EFM. My Nana passed away. I graduated number ten in my class. I traveled to Europe. I started college and moved to Columbia. I joined a sorority. I found a new church. My Grandma Tyler passed away. I made many wonderful friendships. I decided I was going to move right outside of Atlanta and do an amazing internship after my freshman year.
So many things.
I just wish, earnestly, more than anything, that my mom would've been here to see it.
I know that yes, she is watching down. I know that very much.
And obviously that means something to me.
But there's something about having your mom take pictures at prom. Having her be there to watch you graduate. Having her help you move into college.
And I missed out on that.
And every year, on March 24th, I am reminded of that. And that hurts my heart. It makes me sad.
I want her to be here. I want to share these moments with her, and I want her to be here to celebrate with me and be sad with me.
And so I hurt. Deeply, with a hurt that is impossible to understand unless you have been in the same situation.
If there's anything I've learned from being in this situation, it's that it is almost impossible to say "I understand how you feel" to anyone.
Because odds are you haven't been there, and you don't understand. And as one who has experienced and smiled through a person blindly saying this, I have learned to watch my words and express other sentiments.
I share this with you, friends, because yes. My heart grieves everyday, not just on the day I'm supposed to remember her. Because I think of her everyday. And I miss her everyday. And so in a small way, I grieve everyday.
Deeply. Mournfully. Because I miss her SO incredibly much.
But as I grieve, as I miss her... I am joyful.
I am hopeful.
Because I know that Jesus conquered death a long long time ago on a wooden cross.
And because I am very confident in the fact that my mom trusted Him as her savior.
I am joyful because I know that this is not the end.
Cancer is not the end.
I will see her again. She will be perfect and beautiful.
And so how can I not rejoice in that?
How can I not be joyful that she is no longer hurting, no longer in pain, no longer struggling but completely healed in the presence of our Savior?
"O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God! who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
1 Corinthians 15:55-57
Many of you may have heard of the recent death of the country singer Joey Feek. She was a beautiful artist, who passed away from cancer way too young.
She and her husband, Rory, recorded a song called "When I'm Gone" several years ago, having no idea that they would be put in this situation.
As many people shared this song over the past week, I listened to it in my dorm room.
And by the end had tears pouring down my cheeks.
It seemed the perfect message from my mom around this time.
I highly encourage you to go listen to the song..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcpjSMmWUDw
At the end of the song, she sings
"life will call with daffodils and morning glorious blue skies.
You'll think of me, some memory, and softly smile to your surprise.
And even though you love me still, you will know where you belong."
And I can't think of a more true sentence.
I miss her so much. But I know she is whole and well again. And when a memory comes to mind, I can't help but smile and think of her. Like sitting in rocking chairs at the beach. Or listening to Sara Evans.
And yet, as I yearn for those times again.. as I wish to be back with her.. I know that I am where I'm supposed to be. I know this is where she wants me to be in life.
I don't know if you've ever seen the stories or seen videos where a mom with cancer wrote letters to her children to be opened on their birthdays, or when they graduate or get married.
My mom didn't write those.
And for several years, I was sad that she didn't. I wanted to read those messages.
But I realized, about three years ago that there was a reason that she didn't.
She wasn't intent on dying.
She was determined to see as much of Austin and I grow up as she could, and she wasn't going to spend that time writing letters.
She spent every minute until her last breath fighting to live.
And that is one of the most inspiring things in the world to me.
Cindy Tyler was pretty incredible anyways.
Her smile lit up any room she was in.
Her faith was a candle in the darkness.
Her love was shown to so so many.
And all I can hope is that I am half of the person she was. And that I am making her proud.
I like to think she is proud of who I am.
So yes.
I am sad every year on March 24th.
But I am also praising the One who loves so deeply, who forgives so freely, who works everything for good. Because I know, I know, I know that His plans are perfect and that one day I will be reunited with my dear sweet mama, and to me that is worthy of praise.
So thank you Father.
Thank you for getting me through eight years. Thank you for my sweet daddy who has so selflessly sacrificed so many things for me and Aus. Thank you for Austin who loves me no matter how many times I change the radio. Thank you for the people who helped to raise me and Austin.. the uncountable ladies who were mom's friends, our family, the church friends, those who were happy to have us over. Thank you for Alice who is always there to answer my questions about whether or not to dry a sweater or if my dress needs to be taken in, among so many other things. Thank you for my wonderful grandparents, especially now that both my grandmothers have passed away, who instilled so many life lessons into me. Thank you for my friends. My wonderful, dear, loving friends who are a text message away and happy to listen to my ramblings.
Thank you God, for my mama. For the life that she lived, for the love she spread, for the many memories I have of her.
And thank you the most, Father, for sending your son as a precious precious baby, to grow up and die so that we might live forever.
Thank you for the hope that death is not the end. That cancer is NOT the end.
Amen.
Love you mama, always.
I really, truly have grown up.
I switched schools. We moved houses. I made amazing memories in high school. I was president of a service club. I became a head teacher at EFM. My Nana passed away. I graduated number ten in my class. I traveled to Europe. I started college and moved to Columbia. I joined a sorority. I found a new church. My Grandma Tyler passed away. I made many wonderful friendships. I decided I was going to move right outside of Atlanta and do an amazing internship after my freshman year.
So many things.
I just wish, earnestly, more than anything, that my mom would've been here to see it.
I know that yes, she is watching down. I know that very much.
And obviously that means something to me.
But there's something about having your mom take pictures at prom. Having her be there to watch you graduate. Having her help you move into college.
And I missed out on that.
And every year, on March 24th, I am reminded of that. And that hurts my heart. It makes me sad.
I want her to be here. I want to share these moments with her, and I want her to be here to celebrate with me and be sad with me.
And so I hurt. Deeply, with a hurt that is impossible to understand unless you have been in the same situation.
If there's anything I've learned from being in this situation, it's that it is almost impossible to say "I understand how you feel" to anyone.
Because odds are you haven't been there, and you don't understand. And as one who has experienced and smiled through a person blindly saying this, I have learned to watch my words and express other sentiments.
I share this with you, friends, because yes. My heart grieves everyday, not just on the day I'm supposed to remember her. Because I think of her everyday. And I miss her everyday. And so in a small way, I grieve everyday.
Deeply. Mournfully. Because I miss her SO incredibly much.
But as I grieve, as I miss her... I am joyful.
I am hopeful.
Because I know that Jesus conquered death a long long time ago on a wooden cross.
And because I am very confident in the fact that my mom trusted Him as her savior.
I am joyful because I know that this is not the end.
Cancer is not the end.
I will see her again. She will be perfect and beautiful.
And so how can I not rejoice in that?
How can I not be joyful that she is no longer hurting, no longer in pain, no longer struggling but completely healed in the presence of our Savior?
"O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God! who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
1 Corinthians 15:55-57
Many of you may have heard of the recent death of the country singer Joey Feek. She was a beautiful artist, who passed away from cancer way too young.
She and her husband, Rory, recorded a song called "When I'm Gone" several years ago, having no idea that they would be put in this situation.
As many people shared this song over the past week, I listened to it in my dorm room.
And by the end had tears pouring down my cheeks.
It seemed the perfect message from my mom around this time.
I highly encourage you to go listen to the song..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcpjSMmWUDw
At the end of the song, she sings
"life will call with daffodils and morning glorious blue skies.
You'll think of me, some memory, and softly smile to your surprise.
And even though you love me still, you will know where you belong."
And I can't think of a more true sentence.
I miss her so much. But I know she is whole and well again. And when a memory comes to mind, I can't help but smile and think of her. Like sitting in rocking chairs at the beach. Or listening to Sara Evans.
And yet, as I yearn for those times again.. as I wish to be back with her.. I know that I am where I'm supposed to be. I know this is where she wants me to be in life.
I don't know if you've ever seen the stories or seen videos where a mom with cancer wrote letters to her children to be opened on their birthdays, or when they graduate or get married.
My mom didn't write those.
And for several years, I was sad that she didn't. I wanted to read those messages.
But I realized, about three years ago that there was a reason that she didn't.
She wasn't intent on dying.
She was determined to see as much of Austin and I grow up as she could, and she wasn't going to spend that time writing letters.
She spent every minute until her last breath fighting to live.
And that is one of the most inspiring things in the world to me.
Cindy Tyler was pretty incredible anyways.
Her smile lit up any room she was in.
Her faith was a candle in the darkness.
Her love was shown to so so many.
And all I can hope is that I am half of the person she was. And that I am making her proud.
I like to think she is proud of who I am.
So yes.
I am sad every year on March 24th.
But I am also praising the One who loves so deeply, who forgives so freely, who works everything for good. Because I know, I know, I know that His plans are perfect and that one day I will be reunited with my dear sweet mama, and to me that is worthy of praise.
So thank you Father.
Thank you for getting me through eight years. Thank you for my sweet daddy who has so selflessly sacrificed so many things for me and Aus. Thank you for Austin who loves me no matter how many times I change the radio. Thank you for the people who helped to raise me and Austin.. the uncountable ladies who were mom's friends, our family, the church friends, those who were happy to have us over. Thank you for Alice who is always there to answer my questions about whether or not to dry a sweater or if my dress needs to be taken in, among so many other things. Thank you for my wonderful grandparents, especially now that both my grandmothers have passed away, who instilled so many life lessons into me. Thank you for my friends. My wonderful, dear, loving friends who are a text message away and happy to listen to my ramblings.
Thank you God, for my mama. For the life that she lived, for the love she spread, for the many memories I have of her.
And thank you the most, Father, for sending your son as a precious precious baby, to grow up and die so that we might live forever.
Thank you for the hope that death is not the end. That cancer is NOT the end.
Amen.
Love you mama, always.
