This week marks 15 years since my mom passed away. 15 years! It feels so long ago and, some days, still so painfully fresh.
The other day I was remembering the last time I felt like I really had a mom. It was about a month before she died. I was home from college on an extended break to help care for her. She was very sick at that point and I think we all could sense this wasn't going to end the way we hoped it would. She was sitting in her rocking chair in our living room, now unable to climb the stairs to her bedroom. The emotions of it all overwhelmed me and I sat down next to her and laid my head on her lap and cried. She cried too...her hand on my head. And I remember the comfort of her. Her scent, her touch, her voice, her knowing of me. For one more time, she was the mommy and I was her little girl.
It's her comfort, her presence that I grieve the most these days. Being a mom is tiring, joyful, stretching, and consuming. I long to call her on the phone and ask a question, voice a frustration or just cry in the presence of the one who did all of these mom things for me decades ago. I want to ask her how I was as a baby and compare notes. I want to see her delight in the grandchildren she longed to meet one day. I wish she could tell me that I'm doing a great job and that she's so proud of me.
In this season of full-time baby and little people, the old waves of grief rise up a bit more often than before. God has so faithfully, so gently, so completely met me on this journey. He has met my needs along the way, sometimes before I even knew I had them. I am thankful for that...deeply grateful. I trust His goodness and know He sees and understands me, especially on the sad days.
And so this week I remember the woman who loved me in ways I now understand and appreciate much more fully as I love and care for my own children. And I look toward the future with a hopeful heart bolstered by the remembrance of all the Lord has done. For surely He has done and will continue to do great and wonderful things.