Dear Mom …. (part 2)

Aloha readers! Today’s post is part two of the series “Dear Mom.” If you haven’t had a chance to read part one, you can do so here.

As I reflect on my life since my mom passed twenty years ago, I realize that through the storm, God stood right by my side. Even though I didn’t believe it, He was there. Grief and loss of a loved one can leave us with such an emptiness in our hearts, but friends, as we go through it, I urge you to believe that you are not alone. While people can hold your hands, cry with you, and pass you tissues during the “ugly cry,” there is only One who stays through it all. One whose focus is on you and helping you get through this. Hold onto His faithfulness. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Thank you, friends, for sharing life with me.

– Jenn

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These final memories, Mom, they’re the toughest to digest. But God is telling me I need to process. And apparently it takes time. For me, it’s taken me twenty years to get to this point. Twenty years to want to heal. Twenty years to have someone by my side, who can comfort, guide, and help me through this. And it took twenty years to finally trust Him.

Let me tell you, Mom, living life without you wasn’t easy. I finished college, became a wife, became a mother, established a career, and did my best to be successful in your eyes. I wanted you to be proud of me. But I couldn’t hear you anymore. I didn’t know if I was doing it right.

I wish I remembered more and knew more of your wisdom.

I wish I had written it down.

I wish I had words to pass on to the grandchildren who never had a chance to meet you.

I wish I had not been so stubbornly in denial about your sickness.

I wish you had more than those last six weeks.

I wish you were still here.

I wish you were at my college graduation.

I wish you were at my wedding.

I wish you could’ve held my babies when they were born.

I wish you could hug them as they call you Grandma.

I wish I knew more of how to be a mother like you.

I wish we could do life together.

My last image of you – the image that is burned in my brain – was of you on that hospital bed looking at me unable to speak because a breathing tube was keeping you alive for just another few moments. I stood at the foot of your hospital bed before your final sedation. They would remove the tube soon, to make you more “comfortable.” Our eyes met and you told me you loved me. You didn’t need to struggle to write it on the notepad. I knew the words of your heart. I fought back the tears as I mouthed the words “I love you, too.” That is my final memory of you. Because even though I stood by you as the room began to clear, and I stood beside you as the priest read you your Final Rites, you had already gone Home, and I was alone in that room – in this world.

I hated myself for not spending every last minute I could with you. I could not face the fact that you were dying. I prayed and prayed that God would heal you. And even though it is in His amazing powers to do so, the cancer spread through your body so quickly and painfully, I did not understand how a God who is supposed to love us could do that to you…. to me. For I knew your death would release you from your pain, but it only heightened mine, and the pain of those around me.

I couldn’t really talk to anyone about this. I had no one to talk to. Besides, I had no desire to burden anyone with what I was feeling; what confused me; what I couldn’t understand, myself. How could I expect someone else to understand it, much less explain what was going on with me? I didn’t want to have anyone suffer with me. So I just kept it in. Waiting. Alone.

You taught me about faith. I knew you were in Heaven. I knew you were no longer suffering. But as I suffered in silence, I began to question the life God gave me. I stopped going to church. I couldn’t see what the point was – other than to say “Hi” to you in my prayers. I turned away from the God, who I believed to have torn this hole in my heart, and turned to the world to find love, acceptance, and my place in it. How could this God who loved me do this? And His plan? “It’s all in His plan,” everyone said. (Trust me, I used a few choice expletives in response to that.) Let me tell you, when you’re in the midst of it, you can’t possibly fathom “the plan.” It took twenty years for me to even begin to understand this tiny part of His plan.

Twenty years.

But I don’t want you to worry. Not all of it was horrible. A little over a year after you passed, I met the man who would be my husband and we fell in love. With a huge whole in my heart, it was quite easy to do. But thankfully, the Lord steered His choice, a godly man, towards me. While I was not yet complete, we were good together. (And are still good together!) In those twenty years, we both got to know God more. We got to know who He really is, and even though what’s in store for us remains a mystery, we can see how His plan got us to where we are today.

The gnawing, unbearable pain. The hurt. The anger. The frustration. In my humanness, I was free to choose one of two paths: One towards God. One away from God. You see, with my history, it would be so easy to have chosen the latter. And in fact, I did for a little bit. I did things that you probably wouldn’t have been proud of. I made mistakes. I suffered consequences. I looked for comfort in the world. But in my heart, the Holy Spirit was working on me. Slowly but surely. It was in God’s time that I came back to church, came back to Him. I sometimes wonder if I should have gone back sooner. But that wasn’t His plan.

Twenty years.

It took more than going to church to get right with God. I had to surrender my heart. The same heart that had been broken so many times before. The heart that had so much scar tissue it might be unrecognizable to some, and probably rejected for a transplant. A heart I felt no one wanted.

But God wanted this broken heart.  And He wanted to heal it. All I had to do was give it to Him.

Twenty years. And I finally trusted Him.

As much as I love you, Mom, without losing you, I may have become a woman of the world instead of a woman after God’s own heart. And it’s something I know you wanted for me. For you have taught me to be in control of myself and responsible for my actions. You have shown me gentleness through your actions with others. The goodness of your heart shone through your constant giving to those less fortunate than we were. You taught me to be kind to everyone I see, even if they were not kind to me. You had insurmountable patience for my brother, sister, and me. You were always at peace with every decision you made, and you always brought peace to my heart with your words and comfort. You brought joy to our family and to the lives of those around you. And love. You loved me like no other person could. Your life was not an easy one, and your strength, I truly admire. And for all this, Mom, I thank you.

I thank God for letting me know you as long as I was able to, and for you to share your Godly fruits with me. I thank Him for the blessing that was you. And although our time together was short, it was good. And God is all about the good.

I still have a ways to go to be completely healed. But twenty years later, I am a better and stronger woman for having gone through the storm. There was no way I could have done it alone. God is faithful. God is good. Through Him, all things are possible.

I love you and I miss you. But I live in the faith that we will be together again. A hui hou.

~Jenny

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During my long walks to find my way back to the Father, this song found it’s way repeatedly onto my playlists. God’s message was clear:

“Don’t turn away. I’m right here. You are, never were, and never will be alone.”