A Motherless Child

In the last couple of weeks I have learned of 3 people that have lost a parent. Two friends from high school that each lost their moms and one twitter friend whose father went off in peace this morning. It’s a club I hate for anyone to be in. Immediately when I hear of the loss of a parent I feel it way deep down in my belly. So much so that at times it makes my knees buckle. I know what it’s like to suddenly feel lost, have your world thrown off it’s axis. To feel like you aren’t anchored anymore. To know that there is now a hole inside of you that no one else can ever feel. Your parent, your friend, your history, your comfort, gone. Just like that.

I always say the real test of your strength, to see just how much of a warrior you are, just how badass, comes when you’ve lost a parent or if you have the unfortunate experience of losing a child. It changes you and challenges you in a way you never thought possible.

Losing a mother breaks you down so that you search for the air, the strength, to surge back up to the surface just to make it through another day. Everything else in life seems so petty. You can no longer accept the level of bs you once did. The grace in the struggle is that it is the lessons of the mother that give you that strength to push through. It’s knowing that if God allowed her to see your suffering it would break her heart into a thousand pieces. She would not want misery for you, ever. It’s remembering the lessons she taught you like not to lean on your own understanding, trust God, pray without ceasing, the joy of the Lord IS your strength, and in all things give thanks. It’s remembering how she dealt with her own mother’s death with grace and dignity, even as she fell apart.

To my two forever friends, April and Kim, I understand. I understand the journey. I pray for your strength everyday. I pray that the joy of the Lord overwhelms your life. And I pray that when you find yourself wailing in the corner during your healing process that you let it all out, but don’t stay in that space too long. Don’t give the devil the window of opportunity to turn your grief into depression. I love you and I’m here if you need anything, even if you just need someone to cry with. And I won’t promise that a year from now things will be better. I do promise that if you hold on to your faith and activate it, the crying spells become less frequent and you’re able to get through each day, one at a time.

To my twitter pal @efloraross, I’ve watched your journey. You’ve gone through so much in the last few months and your strength and vulnerability have given me strength. I was so sad to see how you had to watch your dad’s demise and experience what you did, but I am so happy that your dad is finally at peace now. I’m praying that you find peace as well. God bless you luv.

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2 thoughts on “A Motherless Child

  1. What a sweet, heartfelt post! I lost my mom in 2011 when I was 35 weeks pregnant with my only child. My mom was my world so needless to say, I was devastated and still am when I allow myself to think about how much I miss her. I find writing about my mom helps, so I started blogging:) I’m so glad to have found your blog via SITS! I hope you’ll come visit me sometime. :):)

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