The last picture I have that has Mom and I in it, is from New Year’s Day. 18 days before Mom passed away.
My last photo with Mom
I just mentioned on our family blog how I looked so happy there. Nathan noted it in an email he sent this afternoon:
"When I was sitting there with Isaac, though, I zoomed in on the picture (as I'm doing again now) and thought "I miss that smile." We still have fun. You still laugh. You still smile. Our kids still bring you joy...but the smile in the picture was so carefree and easy. Life changed so much after that. It got so much harder. Less support when things got tough. . . Now, things are just a little less comfortable than they were. What can I do to bring you a little of that innocent joy back? Or is it forever lost now that we've seen how hard life can really be? "
I wasn’t sure what to say. I don’t really know. I’m okay, but I’m changed. So much has been restored, but anniversaries like yesterday are still hard. 2 years of history hasn’t changed the fact that I miss her.
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I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your posts, Amy. We’re in the process of losing my Mom; it sounds like she has 1-2 weeks to live. I feel blessed that we know before hand that her days are numbered.
I was talking to a friend who lost her father several years ago about grieving and sadness from such loss. She mentioned that the joy and the smiles return, but that it takes time. She talked about not short-cutting the grieving process – that doing so dishonors the one we’ve lost and discounts the precious relationship we shared. I like that and think that it is true. And I like laughing and smiling, so I’m counting on it being true, too, that I’ll get it back. I guess I’ll probably find out shortly.
You have a beautiful smile, Amy, and a beautiful spirit. I believe (and know) that your smile will return. Make sure you give your Mom the honor now, though, that she deserves. You very obviouly shared such a precious relationship – one worth grieving well.
Torrey,
I don’t know if I referred to this before or not, but, shortly after I lost my mom, Tim Savaloja made a comment that really made me think. He said that it didn’t matter how old someone was when they lost their parent, that they still felt orphaned. I had never really considered that before, but it makes sense.
Thank you for the encouragement. I really appreciate it.
Amy, I am new here…but having lost my Dad to cancer when I was 25, I understand your pain. I also understand how hard it is when people don’t “comment”….it has been 16 years for me and honestly, some days I miss my Daddy like it was yesterday…but I have learned that people don’t comment on my pain not because they don’t care but because unless they have walked this road, they really and truly have NO idea what to say and are absolutely fearful of saying the wrong thing. I hope that your pain has eased a bit…that you are embracing the joy of the relationship you obviously had with your mom and are celebrating the memories! (And if you aren’t yet…trust me, you will be able to soon.)
I look through the pictures of the first Christmas after my dad died, and we all look tired and shell-shocked. Of course, it had only been 3 weeks, but I didn’t know it wore so heavily on my face what I was feeling in my heart.
We passed the first year milestones, and so much more. I’ve found the joy has returned, but it is tempered now. Tempered with sorrow that my dad is not here to experience Kieren’s soccer goal, Kailynn’s new words, and Abby’s first dance recital. I believe this sorrow will remain forever, how could it not since a person who is so important to me is missing? That hurt may ease, but it will linger.
I’m sorry this doesn’t sound too encouraging does it? But yet there is hope. I do look forward to what is yet to come, both here on Earth, and in Heaven. I hold fast to the promises in Psalms that God cares for the orphans and the widows. I found great comfort in that promise when I read it shortly after Dad died, and I continue to find comfort in it today.
Thank you, Kristen. I appreciate your encouragement.