Well, you probably saw this blog post coming. The one about the run up to my first Mother’s Day without Mom.
The thing is, I didn’t see it coming. In fact, last week when Mike, my grief support person, checked in with me, I told him, “I’m in a pretty good place.” And I was.
Then a couple of days ago, I saw an online ad for this gorgeous Mother’s Day card from Lovepop.com.
I thought, “Oh that’s beautiful. I’ll get that for Mom.”
The thought was like a reflex, spontaneous and natural, because I’d gotten her so many pretty Mother’s Day cards, all of which she had saved in various dresser drawers and her main clothes closet, along with every one my brothers and their wives had ever gotten her. I found them all when I was cleaning her upstairs bedroom last fall.
No, I won’t be placing an order for that beautiful orchid card. She isn’t here anymore.
Early this morning before church, I sat down to place our weekly grocery delivery order from Walmart (because I still have panic episodes in stores). The home page was all Mother’s Day ads, as it should be. But I felt ambushed, angry and sad.
Enough with the Mother’s Day ads already! It's just a stupid flower holiday. Make it stop!
That’s when I knew I needed to write this post. I need to find a way to release these feelings of sadness and anger.
Lucky you. You get to read all about them.
If your mom is no longer with you, how did you handle your first Mother’s Day without her? I very much want to know because I’m not sure how to navigate this. Mother’s Day is three weeks away, and I’m struggling. I need to find a way to turn this so that May 14th isn’t a curl-up-and-block-out-the-world day.
I almost didn’t go to church this morning because I had a crying jag in the shower that was hard to turn off. I let it run its course and decided to go because I knew it was what I needed.
Reverend Jeanne’s sermon focused on Luke 24: 13-35, the encounter with Jesus on the road to Emmaus. She talked about how, no matter what we are struggling with, God is always with us. At the door of the church, in the person beside you in the pew, in the listening ear of a trusted friend or family member.
I was glad I went. It was what I needed to hear, especially this morning.
I’ve heard it said that part of God’s grace is that you eventually don’t remember intense pain as time passes. I think that’s true.
Case in point. I don’t remember the pain of my first Father’s Day without my dad in 1999. There was certainly pain, but the ache has been replaced by a commitment to honoring him. I’m fond of making his high school graduation photo my profile photo on Facebook.
Since Jimmy and I moved back to my homestead, I have developed a deep interest in making this place beautiful and productive with flowers and plants the way he used to do it. It’s a way of honoring him that allows me to feel profoundly connected to him. I like that.
Maybe that’s what I need to do today and in the days ahead. When the pain of missing her gets heavy (as it is right this very moment) honor her with one of the many gifts she gave me: prayer, baking, creating, connecting with the family she gave me.
I found these two photos of my mom during the upstairs clean out.
I’d never seen them before. She was always uncomfortable with compliments and certainly never saw herself as beautiful. It’s a shame because she was statuesque and beautiful. Just sharing these photos with you is a way of honoring her, and it makes the sadness less heavy.
I am in still a good place. I guess I just thought I had moved past the grief ambushes. But you probably don’t ever move past them completely.
I will never outsmart grief. All I can do is acknowledge it, talk about it, release it and learn from it.
If you are willing, help me to learn by sharing how that first Mother's Day went for you when you lost your mom.
And if she is still in your life, send her the most beautiful card this year. If she is still in your life but things aren’t good between you, consider calling her and giving her some grace. Just this once. It might lead to healing and a chance to rebuild love.