I have now lived two weeks on this Earth without a major piece of my heart. Sun up to sun down. Minute by minute. Mile stone by mile stone. Foot step by foot step. Breath by breath.
I have lost people before. I have lost people I have heavily grieved over before. I am a bit caught off guard at the depth of this loss. Well, I am and I’m not. I mean, how can you not feel a deep loss when you loose the one person who you have literally known your whole life? The one person who’s body was your place of growth and protection before you were even born. The one person who’s heartbeat was the first thing you heard.
My Mom was by no means perfect. She struggled with life sometimes. She struggled with me and my brother sometimes. She struggled with God sometimes. She shut down when she was mad. And, oh boy, she could yell!
But my Mom was also one of the most amazing women on this planet. She was so sweet and nurturing. When she loved you, you knew you were loved. It was like a warm blanket on a cold night. Soft, warm, comforting. She had a smile that would light up a room, soften the hardest heart, and put even the grumpiest grouch at ease. She taught me to give to people. I can not count all the times she gave away blankets she made with her hands and her heart. She loved to talk to people, learn their story. She set you at ease and lifted your heart.
Mom was a thinker. I already miss the conversations we would have about everything, and nothing, and life and living. I loved being able to call and say, “What do you think…” and she would have great things to say. She was my sounding board. A voice of reason when I needed one. A laugh when I needed one. A shoulder to cry on when I needed one.
Not very athletic, she was left handed, and always felt things were backwards, so I think that hindered her desire to work at sports. However, she almost always willing to try something adventurous. She wasn’t one to go play soccer or basketball or baseball. Camping, hunting, fishing, parasailing, zip lining? Yep, she was there. However, if I was playing, boy you bet she was there to watch. Sunny? There. Rainy? There. Snow on the ground and freezing temperatures? There. I wish I could show you the pictures in my head of her on the side line, standing in snow just to watch me play soccer. Even as a 45 year old adult player, if she was in town when I played, she was sitting in the stands and cheering us on.
Her heart though? That was the amazing eight little people who lovingly called her Grandma. Each one of them were her pride and joy. She couldn’t wait to hear what they were doing, what they said or how they did. Or talk to them whenever she could… on the phone or in person. And, how they loved her. She was so concerned when I moved to Nashville, that when I had kids, they wouldn’t know her because she lived far away. It tickled her so to hear them squeal with joy “GRANDMA!!!” as she walked into the house. She was there for each of their births. She was there for plays, and games, and cooking together. They knew her. They loved her. They miss her.
Even sitting here now, I find myself wishing I could ask her opinion or advice. Or just throw my arms around her for a hug. The grief comes in waves. Sometimes they are little waves and just rock me enough to take a step back. Sometimes they are big waves and are impossible to stand up against. And while I’m sure they will slow and become less traumatic, I’m equally sure they will never really calm or be still. There is a void that can not be refilled on this earth.
So do me a favor, huh? If your Momma is still here, call her. Tell her you love her. Go see her. Hug her neck tight. Because when you no longer can, it will be the one thing you really want to do.