I wanted another happy day. After such a hard month, we’d finally had such a sweet day out in the sunshine, getting dirty gathering debris, Dad and me and kids and neighbors all together. No one had to say anything about the sadness. We knew it was there, and we also knew that it was good to be in the sunshine and it was good to run a chainsaw and it was good to set things on fire and then sit in Adirondack chairs and rest our tired muscles in the warmth. Our conversation ran from heaven and hospice to Dodger baseball and diesel.
The sun shone directly on our faces.
No one was out looking for joy or satisfaction, necessarily. Stuff needed to be burned. It was Saturday and sunny and that’s what you do out here. I toted Ben on my hip and made lunch and stood there breathing the cold, clean winter air, thinking how odd it is to feel so much grief and so much joy all at once.
I think about my mom all the time. I miss her every day. Logically, this perplexes me. She declined for so long, I thought I’d be emotionally prepared to have her gone. It’d been years since she was able to call me on the phone. It’s probably been a decade since she was able to email me. So I don’t understand how the missing can be so overwhelming. I love receiving messages from people who have specific memories of her. I love reading the books that she dog-eared and underlined. I love her hand-writing. I miss her smell.
I guess that’s what it is. I know all the stuff about heaven. I’m grateful for all the reminders about where she is and the hope that we have. I believe it all, I do! I just miss her.
I’m guessing many of you understand this. The constant ache of missing.
And today God reminded me that the relief, the joy, the satisfaction doesn’t come by chasing after it. After that good and happy day I just wanted another good and happy day. And today as we started out working together, splitting wood, the circumstances weren’t the same and I could feel that disappointment well up just a bit in my soul.
How easily I can become embittered!
The clouds were stubborn and the littles were cold so I took them into the house, and began prepping dinner while occupying them. NOT what I wanted to be doing. I wanted sunshine, I wanted to be working in the fresh air. And then I remembered what God had said in Hawaii:
If you look for relief, you won’t find it. If you look for gratitude, you will.
I had been so tired then too. It had felt like an army crawl across the finish line of Easter, when we finally flew away to Maui and I’d anticipated it so much and that first day so many hard things happened I realized I could be in paradise and still be sad. And as I prayed I sensed God ask, “What are you looking for?”
I tried to answer honestly: Well, God, I’m looking for relief.
Just some relief. I’m not asking for ecstasy or luxury or anything excessive. Just relief. But immediately I knew, if I came there looking for relief for myself I wouldn’t find it. Babies still cry in Hawaii. Toddlers still throw tantrums and couples miscommunicate and the whole thing can go sideways rather quickly if I’m in it solely for my own relief.
But if I look for gratitude, I will find relief.
I did. It turned out to be a tremendous trip. Not perfect, but filled with thanks and yes … relief.
Standing there at the counter shredding chicken, I remembered. Gratitude.
And service. How many meals did my mom dish up? How many lunches did she pack? A billion. She served and served and served and served. And had the most contented, joyful spirit.
I shredded the cheese, put Ben down for a nap, read a book to Justice.
The sun started breaking, just a bit, through the clouds.
By mid-afternoon it was full-sun, take-off-your-coat, push-up-your-sleeves weather and Ben woke up happy and as I smelled his sweet baby breath and sat with Justice in the sun I thought, There it is. That joy. It did come. The by-product of thanks-giving and serving. Felt fully and simultaneously with grief.
Missing Mom and being so glad I get to raise her grandchildren and do life with Dad and be her one and only daughter, her DNA woven into every part of me.
Grateful.
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Thank you for the inspiration. It was so nice getting to meet you at your Mom’s Celebration Of Life. I so admire your Pop for his total commitment to your Mom and his growing family, all those years. He truly is the “Big Dog” and I thankful to be able to realize he is one of my best friends.
This is beautiful Kari. It takes awhile to be okay again. But focusing on others, focusing on gratitude and serving like your Mama did is key. You do have her DNA. You are not her but in my opinion you had the best mother in the world! There’s no one better to have learned from and she taught us all well how to live better lives, love others better, know and love Jesus and share the peace, love, joy and wisdom that comes from knowing Him intimately. Such a role model in her quiet, unassuming, serving manner. Of course you will miss her. Even when we can’t possibly wish their suffering to continue one more second, when they’re gone, it’s feels so final. But she is in you! She poured herself into you for all the years you’ve been alive. She’s still here in every memory. It’s so hard not to hear her voice on the phone, not to be able to ask her advise, but everytime you do for your children what she did for you, she’s there. Everytime you open your Bible, she’s there. Everytime you make rolls or teach a homeschool lesson, she is there. Because she taught you all those things. In time, you’ll “hear” little things that were uniquely her. And you will smile. You may even laugh. Love never dies. She still loves you and you still love her. Love is eternal and so are both of you. She is just there in a new home, waiting for you to arrive when your time and your work here is finished. If you didn’t miss her, there would be something very wrong but in your grief be thankful God chose her to be your mother. Give thanks for every hug, every lesson, every everything you enjoyed at her existence.