the mothers
Whenever someone passes away, there always follows a year of firsts; first holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries are the big occasions but there are others as well – first time back at a favorite restaurant, first time drinking a gin and tonic (something I can’t bring myself to do yet), first time going to the beach, closing accounts or having a name removed from one that’s still open. It sucks, really, but there it is – a year of consistent reminders that someone specific is, and will always be, missing from your life.
Today is Daniel’s (18th) birthday, and it’s his first one being celebrated without Michael. I tried to make it special for him by taking him to breakfast somewhere neither of us had been before (not even Michael) and while we had a lovely time, I’d be lying if I told you that we both weren’t keenly aware of his absence which we tried to overlook by commenting on the food, taking pictures and engaging in a deep conversation about the 30 pieces of silver that Judas took for betraying Jesus and how that amount (back then) was the cost of a slave and how Judas was a slave to the decision he’d made and how we’re all slaves to our flesh which, in turn, can lead to being a slave to sin (more on this another time). Like I said…deep. And it helped. A little.
I’ve had several conversations with all our children since Michael was ill (we made all of his medical decisions together when he no longer could) and then since he passed away and, given the subject matter, it’s been a different kind of mothering than I’ve been used to for the past 23 years; the stakes feel higher, hearts are more tender and life lessons cut deeper. I do my best to hold space for their feelings, for their stories which are being rewritten right now, for the reality that their lives will move forward without their father to guide and teach them, to share in their trials and triumphs. We’re all learning to carry this thing that some days feels light as a feather and on others, crushes the chest.
My own mother is in the middle of living with Alzheimer's and often forgets the things I talk with her about; unable to hold onto answers and concepts and emotions; memories slipping away like wisps of smoke. She jokes that she’s like a big baby that I have to take care of now (I hate the physical actions that necessitate this reality for us) and I realize that the ways we relate to one another now are vastly different from even a year ago. How I wish that she was in a place to mother me in the way I want and need her to - to hop in her car and drive over, to sit with me, cook for me, knit with me; take some tasks off my hands and, before she leaves to go back home, to let me lay my head in her lap so that she can stroke my hair for a bit. Sadly, she’s unable to do these things for me and yet, the Lord - always knowing my needs - has put other women in my life to come along side of me and mother my heart with their love and care; checking in on me, feeding me, lifting me up in prayer, holding my hands, crying with me, walking with me, encouraging me…refreshing my soul and holding space for my feelings as my own story without Michael is being rewritten. It’s a beautiful reminder that God sees me and continuously provides me with comfort and refuge through the kindness of these amazing ladies – incredible mothers, all!
“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.” ~ Isaiah 66:13
