When people ask how long it has been, I am burdened to say two years, because my body hollows at the mention of your name, the same way it did two years ago. Deep grief, I know, means a deep love. A deep connection. A deep bond.
I remember that first day without you. I remember the first phone call that you didn’t answer.
My heart is heavy thinking back to that summer- a summer that felt like not a single prayer or cry was ever answered. A summer with devastating news after devastating news. A summer with a heart that couldn’t feel heavier. A summer that felt like God completely abandoned us. A summer that led to a lot of questions.
One foot in front of the other.
The untying of the dependency I had with you has been the hardest part of all of this. No matter how much I need to share my burdens with you or laugh with you, I can’t. Having these emotions with a lack of a target.
We never did ask for this journey. How can we turn your death into something we can find joy in? Never will I find joy in this. However, I am constantly inspired by the way my mom lived her life. By the way she treated people. By the way she was confident in who she was. By the way she unapologetically loved Jesus. By the way she left her legacy in everyone she ever met.
She made everyone in her life feel worthy of love. She knew her worth in Christ and was always able to pour that worth into others. She did this for me so many times. I learned my worth in Christ from her.
In so many ways, this is powerful. It sucks. But it is powerful. Her story is powerful. It deserves to be told. It will never be overplayed.
Thinking about the way she carried herself reminds me that it is okay to feel heavy… to catch my breath. My mom was no stranger to grief in her own life. I admire the way she handled pain. She always gave herself room to catch her breath, and so will I.
“I Can Only Imagine” played on repeat today and I know a few things for sure-
You are absolutely surrounded by His glory
You are dancing for Jesus.
To your knees you have fallen. You are singing Hallelujah.
Mom, I am patiently waiting on the day that we can “forever worship” together.
Two years closer to that day.