Ups and Downs
The loss of a parent in a person's life is going to be pretty profound. Even if that person didn't have a strong connection with his or her parent, a mom/dad gives you half of who you are by genes alone. You can't escape that—they helped make you! It's even harder if you loved that parent and were close.
I've been thinking about my mom a lot over the last few months, and it's been surprisingly tumultuous. The first six or eight months after she died, I would have a few good days and then be struck suddenly with grief and sadness. And yes, I obviously missed her always, and still do, but the shock and hurt would come and go. It would hit me in random moments and with surprising intensity while I made sense of the fact that she's really gone, not just on a trip or something.
Those feelings of intense sadness had mostly faded, and nostalgia and slight longing are what persisted. It was a dull ache that was definitely livable.
The last few months, however, have been more emotional than I anticipated, and in ways I thought I had already moved past.
I'll say here and now, when it hurts the most that my mom is gone, I'm actually pretty grateful for the grief. Like I wrote about a while back, Cheryl Strayed helped me recognize that my grief is meaningful in the sense that I had someone in my life worth loving and missing. And that does bring me comfort; God gave me a mother so amazing that it really means something that she's gone.
The other thing I like about this hurt—and this will probably sound weird—is that it helps me remember that she's really gone, and that all of that terrible hardship we faced as a family really happened. And reliving those memories isn't wonderful, but it means I'm not in denial. It means I'm not bottling it up and repressing everything until I explode. It means I'm still processing it, and not just forgetting about her in order to soothe the pain.
These unexpected moments of heartbreak have come in multiple forms, spurred on by where I am, by what I'm listening to, by a movie I might be watching, etc.
For instance, I saw the surprisingly beautiful "Brooklyn," (spoilers approaching!) about a young Irish woman named Eilis who moves to the United States in the 40s to work and go to school. Her sister dies unexpectedly, and all of a sudden this young woman's most meaningful support system is snatched from her.
Eilis returns to Ireland for her sister's funeral services and cries that her sister will never meet the handsome Italian man back in Brooklyn she loves. Eilis cries that her sister's opportunity to leave the small town they grew up in and see the world will never arrive. Eilis cries that there will be no more meaningful advice or sweet encouragement from someone she looked up to so much.
I started thinking about parallels in my life: my mother won't sit next to me in the temple as I wait to be sealed to my future wife. I don't get to tell my mom about my new life in Phoenix and that I have been so happy. She can't be here to help me pack when I buy my first home, nor give me advice when I'm not sure what to do, nor be here for the other pivotal milestones we all anticipate in our lives. It hurts, it sucks, and I can't do anything about it.
The sweet part about all of this, though, are the small moments that God has given me that remind me about who she really was and what she really wanted for me.
Not long ago I was specifically thinking about what it means to honor your father and mother. This makes me sound so stupid, but I was having a hard time thinking about ways to honor someone that isn't here anymore. But hello, honor their memory! And not long after that I was in the temple doing proxy sealings. As I sat in the Gilbert temple, a sweet feeling of my mother's pride and approval came to me. I know she was thrilled that going to the Lord's house was how I was choosing to utilize my spare time. I would have loved for her to be there with me physically and be proud of me, but I felt peace there that day that I was doing right by her.
I had an even more shocking experience a few weeks later that, on the surface was almost kind of upsetting, but ultimately was really wonderful.
I was in that weird stage between sleep and awake, during that weird time of the day between your first and second alarm clock. I had very recently had a sad moment (probably reading my mother's patriarchal blessing -- one of the most heart wrenching things I have put myself through lately). I started to dream that my mom was at some kind of gathering with me. I remember nothing about the event, and I don't know who else might have been there, I just remember seeing Mom. She hugged me and we cried. No words were exchanged, but I knew that she was telling me that she loved me and that everything is fine.
This was obviously hard on the one hand, because I miss her. I wish I could hug her in real life! But it was wonderful because she always appeared very sick in the dreams I had had of her since she died. It was great to see her whole and happy. It was great to have that warm feeling of a mother's love. I feel like it was a message from her to hold my head up high. She knows where I am and what I'm doing, and she's happy for me. I miss getting to hear it from her, but I'll take anything I can get now that she's on the other side.
Mom told us long before she passed away that we were not to let ourselves go over her death. It's obviously one thing to say and strive for, but something else altogether to achieve. She wanted us to make something worthwhile out of what we experienced and keep moving forward. I'm obviously still in the middle of that fight and learning process, but I think I'm making good strides, and I can't really ask for much more than that.
I've been thinking about my mom a lot over the last few months, and it's been surprisingly tumultuous. The first six or eight months after she died, I would have a few good days and then be struck suddenly with grief and sadness. And yes, I obviously missed her always, and still do, but the shock and hurt would come and go. It would hit me in random moments and with surprising intensity while I made sense of the fact that she's really gone, not just on a trip or something.
Those feelings of intense sadness had mostly faded, and nostalgia and slight longing are what persisted. It was a dull ache that was definitely livable.
The last few months, however, have been more emotional than I anticipated, and in ways I thought I had already moved past.
I'll say here and now, when it hurts the most that my mom is gone, I'm actually pretty grateful for the grief. Like I wrote about a while back, Cheryl Strayed helped me recognize that my grief is meaningful in the sense that I had someone in my life worth loving and missing. And that does bring me comfort; God gave me a mother so amazing that it really means something that she's gone.
The other thing I like about this hurt—and this will probably sound weird—is that it helps me remember that she's really gone, and that all of that terrible hardship we faced as a family really happened. And reliving those memories isn't wonderful, but it means I'm not in denial. It means I'm not bottling it up and repressing everything until I explode. It means I'm still processing it, and not just forgetting about her in order to soothe the pain.
These unexpected moments of heartbreak have come in multiple forms, spurred on by where I am, by what I'm listening to, by a movie I might be watching, etc.
For instance, I saw the surprisingly beautiful "Brooklyn," (spoilers approaching!) about a young Irish woman named Eilis who moves to the United States in the 40s to work and go to school. Her sister dies unexpectedly, and all of a sudden this young woman's most meaningful support system is snatched from her.
Eilis returns to Ireland for her sister's funeral services and cries that her sister will never meet the handsome Italian man back in Brooklyn she loves. Eilis cries that her sister's opportunity to leave the small town they grew up in and see the world will never arrive. Eilis cries that there will be no more meaningful advice or sweet encouragement from someone she looked up to so much.
I started thinking about parallels in my life: my mother won't sit next to me in the temple as I wait to be sealed to my future wife. I don't get to tell my mom about my new life in Phoenix and that I have been so happy. She can't be here to help me pack when I buy my first home, nor give me advice when I'm not sure what to do, nor be here for the other pivotal milestones we all anticipate in our lives. It hurts, it sucks, and I can't do anything about it.
The sweet part about all of this, though, are the small moments that God has given me that remind me about who she really was and what she really wanted for me.
Not long ago I was specifically thinking about what it means to honor your father and mother. This makes me sound so stupid, but I was having a hard time thinking about ways to honor someone that isn't here anymore. But hello, honor their memory! And not long after that I was in the temple doing proxy sealings. As I sat in the Gilbert temple, a sweet feeling of my mother's pride and approval came to me. I know she was thrilled that going to the Lord's house was how I was choosing to utilize my spare time. I would have loved for her to be there with me physically and be proud of me, but I felt peace there that day that I was doing right by her.
I had an even more shocking experience a few weeks later that, on the surface was almost kind of upsetting, but ultimately was really wonderful.
I was in that weird stage between sleep and awake, during that weird time of the day between your first and second alarm clock. I had very recently had a sad moment (probably reading my mother's patriarchal blessing -- one of the most heart wrenching things I have put myself through lately). I started to dream that my mom was at some kind of gathering with me. I remember nothing about the event, and I don't know who else might have been there, I just remember seeing Mom. She hugged me and we cried. No words were exchanged, but I knew that she was telling me that she loved me and that everything is fine.
This was obviously hard on the one hand, because I miss her. I wish I could hug her in real life! But it was wonderful because she always appeared very sick in the dreams I had had of her since she died. It was great to see her whole and happy. It was great to have that warm feeling of a mother's love. I feel like it was a message from her to hold my head up high. She knows where I am and what I'm doing, and she's happy for me. I miss getting to hear it from her, but I'll take anything I can get now that she's on the other side.
Mom told us long before she passed away that we were not to let ourselves go over her death. It's obviously one thing to say and strive for, but something else altogether to achieve. She wanted us to make something worthwhile out of what we experienced and keep moving forward. I'm obviously still in the middle of that fight and learning process, but I think I'm making good strides, and I can't really ask for much more than that.
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