Aloha readers! Today’s post is a bit different than my usual posts. I wanted to do something special in an effort to honor a very special woman in my life. Twenty years ago, my mom passed from this world and went Home to Jesus. It’s hard to believe that so much time has passed between then and now, as some moments in our lives just exist in freeze frame alongside our daily activities. They’re there in the background, but life often continues at such a high speed, they’re often overlooked.
A few months after my mom passed, I decided to write a letter to her. (I remembered that when I lost my brother in middle school, one of my teachers suggested I do that as a way to deal with my grief.) I have no idea what became of that letter, but I realized that since then, I haven’t really sat down to write another.
Today, friends, I’ve decided to share my letter with you because I know so many of us have gone through sorrowful times not knowing what to do or how to get out of it. I want you to know that I stand here with you, holding your hand, as we process this together. The Lord tells us in Isaiah 66:9, “I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born.” For twenty years, I had a hard time believing that, and some of you may have a hard time too. I understand. If you can get anything out of my story this week, it’s to know that no matter what: no matter what you feel, no matter what you do, you are understood, and you are loved.
Always,
Jenn
October 3, 2016
Dear Mom,
Hi. I know it’s been forever since I’ve last written to you. While it’s no excuse, there has been so much happening in the last twenty years. Yes, I know. Twenty years is a long time to go without writing to you, and I’m sorry I haven’t gotten in touch sooner.
I sit here, as, appropriately, the rain pours heavily from the sky, smashing against the rooftops with such force that the small puddles are now swollen again with whitewash from the pelting drops. It’s as if the sky opened up and released every single tear that has been built up for you over the past twenty years as they fall to this earth with such raw emotion, as they can no longer be held back.
In all honesty, Mom, at times it’s been really hard to face the reality that you’re just not here anymore. I know you’re in the beautiful Kingdom of Heaven and you are at such peace that earthly pain, sorrow, and despair can’t even scratch the surface of your understanding of all that is. But I know you’re there and I am here. And I miss you.
For twenty years, I remained a rock. I had to be strong to carry the sorrows of our family and friends, denying the grief that comes naturally. I turned it away for the comfort of a life numb to loss. I hid my feelings from everyone – especially myself. I didn’t do so well with coping when Chucky died, but only you knew that. So this time instead of acting out on my emotions, I put them aside. I’d gone through grief once before, I really didn’t want to go through it again.
I managed to continue on with life even though at first I really didn’t want to. I existed on autopilot – in a haze – not knowing what to think or do. I kept asking myself if this was really happening. Did I really lose my brother and you in the span of seven years? I thought 7 was supposed to be a good number. Or was I living in a world of seven years bad luck? I didn’t know who I was any more. Was our family cursed? Would God call me next? Was it still worth living and loving?
Part of me wanted to be next because Paradise seemed a much better place than the hell I was going through. But most of me longed to be last because no one deserves to feel what I felt. All I knew in those early moments was that I could not act upon my emotions because I didn’t want to be the cause of any more pain and sorrow for the people I loved. So I took my hurt, sadness, regrets, and anger, and tucked it into a box with memories of those last weeks and threw it aside not wanting to see it ever again. Isolating myself from everything real, loneliness became my only company.
I turned instead to the habit of busying myself to avoid reality. Losing you left me empty. And since I didn’t know the Lord then as I do now, I searched endlessly for a love like yours – a love I realized later I could never find. I thought, if I could fill myself with projects, goals, people, and things, then I would feel productive, needed, and loved. But the emptiness remained. People I thought could be life-long friends moved on to other places and other people. Projects became difficult to accomplish and I’d give up on them half fulfilled. The things I’ve collected began to pile up in the corners and under my bed doing nothing but gathering dust. The box of memories on the floor of my closet that I cast aside so long ago began to tug at my soul, and the feelings of sadness and despair would resurface every now and then. So what did I do? I covered them with more people, more activities, and looked for more things to fill me.
Twenty years worth of stuff.
Time passed. Looking back, it passed rather quickly. And my memories have faded. I often wish that I could be one of those people who can pull scenes out of their heads like pictures in a photo album. They can remember a moment so clearly, down to every last detail. But my mind doesn’t work like that. I’ve shut out so many bad memories that I’ve locked away the good ones too, not knowing how to get them back. I’ve emotionally distanced myself from people and events so much, that my memories have no triggers to recall them.
But God’s been calling me, Mom. I’ve been really getting to know Him lately in the past few years. For the first time, that hole in my heart feels warm – as if it’s being mended. The logistic in me is saying it’s due to the amount of time that’s passed and I’ve just gotten used to the fact that this is the way things are for me. But there is a voice deep down in there that’s telling me that this is something different.
Each time I listen to that voice in my heart, even when it’s sometimes hard, good things have come.
And now the voice urges me to take that box I’ve hidden so long ago and to open it. So here I am. Sitting here watching the rain with this box of memories – every single one still intact and as clear as day, protected from the light that would have faded it. Just a single screen shot of a memory residing in here can bring me to my knees in tears. And I’m not sure I can deal with them. Not without you.
But God tells me I can. With Him.
And that is what gave me the courage to write to you today. Because as much as I miss you so, this trial that God has put me through – THESE trials that God has put me through – has only strengthened my relationship with Jesus. And now with Him by my side, I am not afraid to open the box and to remember you – all of you. Rain from heaven falls upon me. Tears from Jesus flow through me. But we will be right again.
(To be continued….)
Click here for Part Two.
Friend, if you are fighting your own storm, I urge you not to turn away from the Healer. Put your faith and trust in the one who will lead you through. He stands by your side whether or not you know it. You ARE loved.
