Mom

Yesterday marked 10 years since my dear mom passed away, due to the cancer that overtook her health and her body.  Sometimes these anniversaries are extra difficult; other years, the day itself just seems like any other day.  I don't know exactly what it was for me this year.  I had a nice phone chat with my mom's sister, Priscilla, who is probably the person most like my mom I know.  [And if you're reading this, Priscilla, thanks a million--made my day:)]

A dear, longtime friend of mine sent me the nicest email, and what she wrote was profound and very sweet; I decided to share some of it:

I know that the ache will never go away. It won't. You'll always miss her. And that's okay. She was your mom. She is your mom. You're allowed to miss her. The ache will dull with time and memories may fade a bit, but don't let that worry you. You have your siblings and your dad to always remind each other of her. And, if for nothing else, be thankful that you do have memories of her; that you were old enough to remember her. And, as much as you may not even know it, I think you carry a huge piece of Esther with you inside. I hear it every time I hear your laugh and I see it when you make sensible decisions. I see it in your clever decorating and in your easy spirit around people. You make everyone comfortable and feel loved and that was a gift that your mom certainly had, perhaps one of her greatest gifts. Remember how many people came to her viewing and funeral? It wasn't because they felt bad for you guys (although I'm sure they did); it was because EVERYONE felt that Esther was their friend because she had that uncanny ability to love everyone. I see that same gift in you.

Wow.  Those are meaningful words!  Truly, I have so many friends that have been there for me over the years and continue to be there for me.  I am so blessed.  I still remember how people put together a "sunshine box" for us during her sickness--filled with a little gift for each day.  I remember hundreds of people coming from all over to give us their sympathy at the funeral.  I remember at least one of the moms from school packing lunches for us after she passed away.  I remember a dear lady giving me rides to and from piano lessons.  I remember a lady from church coming over to help cook and clean.  I remember making quesadillas with Dad when it was just the two of us at home quite a few evenings.  I remember my sister being my listening ear and giving helpful advice in life so many times.  Hmm, so many good memories.

I often think I don't remember a lot about that whole time, but when I start to write, it turns out I remember quite a bit.  And they're not all good ones.  I remember being going to the hospital when Mom was sick and trying to work on Algebra in her room.  I remember her bed in the living room when Hospice was coming.  I remember being called in from playing basketball with Anthony outside so she could tell us some of her last words.  I remember being awoken during the night to say she was no longer living.  I remember coming back to school after she passed away and trying to pretend everything was OK; that I was fine.  I remember bawling at summer camps because I missed her.  I remember wishing my mom could be there when I got on varsity for volleyball and when I performed my piano solos.  I remember wanting to get her advice/input on things.  That still happens, actually.

If you have lost someone, you know what I mean about this stuff.  Please know you're not alone.  Don't stuff it inside.  Don't pretend it's not there.  I've learned a lot through it all, but one thing especially is that it's not a burden for someone to listen to me talk about it, and that it brings healing to talk about it.  People often don't know what to say or how to say it, and sometimes they really want to listen and care, but it's difficult to know how, so they often love when we open up.   

And you know what else?  I heard so many times that time heals.  I'm seeing evidence of that coming true.  In many ways, it feels like all of the memories I listed are from a different lifetime.  That's kind of bittersweet-feeling to me.  I'm now nearly finished with college, completing a degree that I didn't even know existed when Mom passed away.  I moved on past the little "Minuet and Trio" she loved to hear me play on the piano when she was sick.  My nieces and nephew haven't met her.  My new in-law hasn't met her.  Etc...

But praise the Lord, I hold on to hope.  Hope not just of seeing her again (which is awesome), but hope of there still being a purpose in life.  A Purpose that came and died for us so that we can live forever.  Jesus Christ is the only reason to really live, and because of Him we can have true joy even in the midst of pain.  He really did die and raise again and cares for us and holds us; we just need to believe it.  We get to just believe it.

Wow, this is a really lengthy post.  I wasn't even planning on blogging, but the email spurred me on.  Thanks, Emily! ;)

Much love friends.  Thanks for being who you are and for the part you play in my life.
~Linz