Eleven Years, and I Still Miss You
Eleven years on March 24th.
I have now lived more than half my life without my mom.
Eleven years, and yet, this year it seems to hurt the most.
I'm about to hit the biggest moments of my life yet.
College graduation. My wedding, beginning a marriage.
A new home with my new husband. A career and furthering my education.
What I would give to have her there for even one of those.
In eleven years, I've learned how to handle situations and circumstances.
I know that awkward questions, or responses, can be smoothed over with a couple of graceful words.
I've come to terms with the fact that it's often easier just to say she couldn't make it to the appointment with me instead of going into the full story.
I've learned how to fake it till I make it with hosting social events in her place.
But I haven't learned how to not tear up when a Sara Evan's song from the early 2000's plays on the radio. Or how to face the annual Mother's Day sermon at church. Or how to go through certain stacks of pictures without a lump in my throat.
During the busiest season of my life yet, these feelings seem ready to burst at any moment.
Wedding dress shopping, furnishing our new house, choosing flowers for my bouquet, planning the graduation party with my best friends. All things she should be at. And she's not.
I may have gotten good at hiding the feelings, but the feelings are still there.
The harsh reality is that she won't be there to button the top four buttons of my wedding dress, she won't watch me walk across the graduation stage, and she won't stop by our new house on her way through Columbia.
It hurts to write that, and it hurts to read that, and it hurts to recognize the truth behind that.
It's been eleven years, but it still hurts every day.
So what do I do?
I handle the situations. I figure out ways to keep her close through memories and recipes and pictures and music choices.
I smile and beam when someone who knew her tells me how much like her I am.
I talk about her with my dad and my brother, and reminisce on vacations and holidays.
And sometimes I still cry. And that's okay.
Because at the end of the day my hope is not in this life.
This is not the end of the story.
Because Jesus conquered death long before my mom's cancer diagnosis.
"O death, where is your victory?
And I can rest in the knowledge that my mom believed that she was a sinner in need of the grace extended to her through Jesus, and that she is in heaven rejoicing in her Savior right now.
And I know that one day we will be reunited again in the presence of the Lord.
"And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."
I rest in the fact that I am not alone. That the Lord has given me a father who has done far beyond what most fathers do so that our lives could be as normal as possible. That I am surrounded by a community of friends and family that love me and support me in every way they can. That I have incredible (not much) older friends that are willing to help fill in the gaps and come to wedding dress fittings and gush over table linen colors and discuss the differences between curtain options for the living room.
And I rest in the knowledge that I am about to marry a man who loves me when I look like I'm put together and when I am actually falling apart.
Eleven years, and things are in some ways easier, and in some ways harder.
I know that there are more challenges to face. I know that one (not anytime soon) day, hopefully, we will have children and I will face a whole new world of missing her.
But I keep on going.
I keep on missing her, and I keep on resting in the knowledge that death is conquered and Jesus has risen indeed.
And because of that, and because of the fact that she believed that, her body is healed, and she is in heaven praising the God she loved so fiercely on earth.
And I take comfort that while I do not understand why, He does.
So I give thanks for her this week, as we hit the 11 year mark.
I thank the Lord for her kind, compassionate heart and how it touched her family and friends and all those who interacted with her.
I thank the Lord for her smile and how beautiful it still is in pictures.
I thank the Lord for the fact that she was a list-maker and note-taker and I have that cursive, neat handwriting to look at now.
And I thank the Lord that He has comforted me in times of grief and given me rest and hope.
And I write.
Not to garner the "you are so strong" comments that follow. Thank you, but not the goal of the blog.
I write so that the facade that I have my life put together 24/7 can be torn down.
Because as much as I like to pretend that I am able to handle everything gracefully and easily, I can't and I don't. I need Jesus desperately. Every minute of every hour of every day.
And I write because the Lord has reminded me that He's not limited in how He can use a blog post written by a 21 year old who doesn't really know what she's doing.
Eleven years this week. So I'll celebrate her in the best ways I know how.
I'll listen to some Sara Evans, plan my next trip to Garden City so I can sit on the front porch in a rocking chair watching the ocean, and I just might eat a Krispy Kreme cruller doughnut.
And I'll still love her. Eleven years later, and forever beyond that.
I have now lived more than half my life without my mom.
Eleven years, and yet, this year it seems to hurt the most.
I'm about to hit the biggest moments of my life yet.
College graduation. My wedding, beginning a marriage.
A new home with my new husband. A career and furthering my education.
What I would give to have her there for even one of those.
In eleven years, I've learned how to handle situations and circumstances.
I know that awkward questions, or responses, can be smoothed over with a couple of graceful words.
I've come to terms with the fact that it's often easier just to say she couldn't make it to the appointment with me instead of going into the full story.
I've learned how to fake it till I make it with hosting social events in her place.
But I haven't learned how to not tear up when a Sara Evan's song from the early 2000's plays on the radio. Or how to face the annual Mother's Day sermon at church. Or how to go through certain stacks of pictures without a lump in my throat.
During the busiest season of my life yet, these feelings seem ready to burst at any moment.
Wedding dress shopping, furnishing our new house, choosing flowers for my bouquet, planning the graduation party with my best friends. All things she should be at. And she's not.
I may have gotten good at hiding the feelings, but the feelings are still there.
The harsh reality is that she won't be there to button the top four buttons of my wedding dress, she won't watch me walk across the graduation stage, and she won't stop by our new house on her way through Columbia.
It hurts to write that, and it hurts to read that, and it hurts to recognize the truth behind that.
It's been eleven years, but it still hurts every day.
So what do I do?
I handle the situations. I figure out ways to keep her close through memories and recipes and pictures and music choices.
I smile and beam when someone who knew her tells me how much like her I am.
I talk about her with my dad and my brother, and reminisce on vacations and holidays.
And sometimes I still cry. And that's okay.
Because at the end of the day my hope is not in this life.
This is not the end of the story.
Because Jesus conquered death long before my mom's cancer diagnosis.
"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
And I can rest in the knowledge that my mom believed that she was a sinner in need of the grace extended to her through Jesus, and that she is in heaven rejoicing in her Savior right now."Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, For your sake we are begin killed all the day long ,we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered. No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor power, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." -Romans 8:31-39
And I know that one day we will be reunited again in the presence of the Lord.
"And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."
Revelation 21:3-4
I rest in the fact that I am not alone. That the Lord has given me a father who has done far beyond what most fathers do so that our lives could be as normal as possible. That I am surrounded by a community of friends and family that love me and support me in every way they can. That I have incredible (not much) older friends that are willing to help fill in the gaps and come to wedding dress fittings and gush over table linen colors and discuss the differences between curtain options for the living room.
And I rest in the knowledge that I am about to marry a man who loves me when I look like I'm put together and when I am actually falling apart.
Eleven years, and things are in some ways easier, and in some ways harder.
I know that there are more challenges to face. I know that one (not anytime soon) day, hopefully, we will have children and I will face a whole new world of missing her.
But I keep on going.
I keep on missing her, and I keep on resting in the knowledge that death is conquered and Jesus has risen indeed.
And because of that, and because of the fact that she believed that, her body is healed, and she is in heaven praising the God she loved so fiercely on earth.
And I take comfort that while I do not understand why, He does.
So I give thanks for her this week, as we hit the 11 year mark.
I thank the Lord for her kind, compassionate heart and how it touched her family and friends and all those who interacted with her.
I thank the Lord for her smile and how beautiful it still is in pictures.
I thank the Lord for the fact that she was a list-maker and note-taker and I have that cursive, neat handwriting to look at now.
And I thank the Lord that He has comforted me in times of grief and given me rest and hope.
And I write.
Not to garner the "you are so strong" comments that follow. Thank you, but not the goal of the blog.
I write so that the facade that I have my life put together 24/7 can be torn down.
Because as much as I like to pretend that I am able to handle everything gracefully and easily, I can't and I don't. I need Jesus desperately. Every minute of every hour of every day.
And I write because the Lord has reminded me that He's not limited in how He can use a blog post written by a 21 year old who doesn't really know what she's doing.
Eleven years this week. So I'll celebrate her in the best ways I know how.
I'll listen to some Sara Evans, plan my next trip to Garden City so I can sit on the front porch in a rocking chair watching the ocean, and I just might eat a Krispy Kreme cruller doughnut.
And I'll still love her. Eleven years later, and forever beyond that.
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