Signposts

I have a routine each Wednesday. I go to our church's ladies' bible study in the morning and then off to my son-in-law's home to do some cleaning and laundry.  While he is doing a wonderful job of caring for the children, the house and working in his landscaping business, I think it likely helps me more than it does him. I feel like I'm doing it for Jess in many ways.  She was a meticulous housekeeper, and I guess I figure, if I can help out in some way, it's honouring her. 

Even yesterday, when I went, there wasn’t much cleaning to be done. I worked on some laundry, washing, folding, and putting clothes away. Even the kids' rooms seemed a little more in order yesterday, so there wasn't much to do there either.

I looked in Jessica's closet, which, after a year, looks about the same. I've taken some clothes out to be made into memory bears and pillows, but other than that, it looks like it did the day she left. I even tried on a couple of things yesterday that she had that were in a larger size, but they were still too small for me. In reality, I've acquired all I can for my own use or as a way to honour her memory. I stared at the clothing yesterday, thinking that maybe I will need to be the one who starts to remove things, which is a difficult concept to think about. 

I got to thinking that some of the items in closet and dresser were last handled by my Jess. If I touch them now, I've somehow broken the chain of command of sorts. Another unwanted piece of reality thought.

Later, I was straightening out a drawer in the basement and happened upon a notebook.  Upon opening it, I was faced with detailed and incredibly neat penmanship.  The book was Jessica's notebook for taking notes in her real estate course. 

Taking this course was such a major endeavour for her at the time.  She was preparing to enter the workforce again, and she decided to take the plunge for the first module of the real estate course. I remember the day she called me, crying with joy that she had passed the exam for the first module.  In her high school years, socialization was far more important than academics at the time, so I think imposter syndrome plagued her while she took the course.  I was also overjoyed at her accomplishment. It's amazing what a little determination, focus, and maturity can do to reach your goals as an adult learner. 

Part of me wanted to take the notebook with me, but I thought I would wait to ask my son-in-law about that one. Her education was cut short in 2022 when she learned she was expecting her third child. She would have rocked the real estate world! 

Later, I came upon her phone, which my granddaughter was now using as a gaming device.  All of Jessica's pictures and videos are still on the phone and I have looked through some of them before. I decided yesterday that I wanted to copy some of these to my phone, but I was unable to utilize the iPhone's airdrop feature.  

Since Jessica's Facebook Messenger was also on the phone, I decided I would send the pictures to my account via Messenger.  It was a relatively simple process, but I happened to notice the buzzing of my Smart Watch.  There it was.  The screen that I used to see so many times a day, but until now, it was radio silence.  The notification icon was there again! 

I remember the morning after she passed, waking up and looking at my phone to see what message Jess had sent me in the night, and there was nothing. 

While, in some ways, this notification icon evoked joy in my soul, it also caused another grief dagger to pierce my heart, releasing the floodgate of tears.  You know, the "ugly cry" tears. Signposts can do that to us, but knowing the God of all comfort is walking right with us as we encounter each signpost, no matter our state of heart, mind, or soul.

I took a picture of the notification and a sort of memorial or way to honour my girl. Oh, how I miss her so. 

Anniversaries are for Celebrating

Last week, March 12th, marked a year since Jessica went to be with Jesus. Some people will call that an "anniversary," but I push back, giving that day such a descriptive.  March 12th, 2024, is singly the saddest day of my life.  A day when, as a mother, the unthinkable happened. The day the strike against the natural order of life hit with an unjustifiable pain. A day when I would bargain with anything I owned and trade places with my firstborn child. Oh, how I begged for that.  I earnestly prayed for that, but my petitions went unanswered by the Creator of the universe. The heavenly silence from my God did not give me peace. Why wouldn't I be allowed to leave this world instead of my daughter?

I had lived my life.  While I was still young in the grand scheme of things, I had already raised my children. My daughter had three beautiful babies that needed her to raise them. They didn't need me in comparison. Take me instead of her. Somehow, that request made me feel that perhaps I had enough influence for God actually to consider it. It wasn't just something I was asking because, of course, any mother would ask to trade places with a dying child, I truly meant it. I was ready.  Heaven was waiting for me, and all I needed to do was take that step when He extended His hand to me, how I longed for it. But again, silence. 

How does God pick and choose who lives and who dies?  Who gets to remain on this earth and raise their children? What mother, who God has gifted as a parent, is allowed to nurture these young souls to grow into healthy young adults in this world? 

I didn't understand then, and I don't understand now. I am still working on understanding that I will never comprehend the reason. At least not while I live in this earthly body. 

Jessica didn't want to leave this earth either. She fought tooth and nail to remain with her children and all of us who love her. But everything I profess to believe in while walking with Jesus tells me that Jessica is more alive now than she has ever been. The moment that she grasped the Hand of Christ to walk with Him was the moment she became truly whole. The heavenly realms exploded with bursts of colours never seen by her human eyes before.  The beauty she experienced that day and for eternity is something she never wants to leave.

In every sunrise, butterfly landing, and whisper of a raindrop, I'd like to think that Jess is trying to tell me, "See, Mom, it's so beautiful! You will see!" But she is also asking me to show the beauty of this earth to her babies. Those three beautiful souls with whom I need to share not only creation's beauty but also the beauty of the love Jesus has for them.  

While March 12th will be a day that I won't feel in my heart, it is a day of celebration, for Jess, it really is. It marks the day she was wrapped in the arms of Jesus, assuring her all was now well. She is in a celebration of eternity, regardless of the day. So, while I may not feel like celebrating, I will be thankful for the life of my daughter, and she is now with her Lord, healed and waiting for the day that we will meet again. 

"However, as it is written: 'What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived'—the things God has prepared for those who love him." 1 Corinthians 2:9

 

Gift Shopping

Grief is a strange companion.  You may not hear from her all day, and then she suddenly appears from around a corner to surprise you.  I don't know why I refer to grief in the "feminine" form. Perhaps because she is free to share her emotions with you. It's not that my male counterparts can't do the same; it just seems that when my female friends get together, we are very open when it comes to sharing our feelings and emotions.  

Grief popped up in me today in a gift shop. We had gone shopping for a birthday gift for my Dad. What do you get someone who is turning 84 and has what he needs and wants?  

This eclectic gift store had quite an array of gift items for everyone. This is also a shop that Jessica would have loved. She had loved gift shops ever since she was a child.  That was my goal too, to find something Jess would get.  My Dad holds a special place in his heart for Jessica.  While he doesn't express his grief in quite the same way that I do, I know his heart is broken now that she is not here with us. 

Then I heard the line of a song playing in the overhead speakers.  It had been playing for a minute or two, and I hadn't paid attention.  It was James Taylor singing the well-known song, Fire and Rain. Indeed, a song I've heard a hundred times before. The line, "and I always thought I would see you again," hit me like never before. In my logical mind, I figure the song is about a lost relationship. It could be due to a death or divorce, but who knows? I just know that line caused me to cry in the gift shop.  Not sobbing, but the quiet tears fell down my cheeks. The visual manifestation of grief. 

In my heart, I know that I will see Jessica again. My assurance that she is with Jesus gives me the strength to put one foot in front of the other. She is healed, and she is whole.  She is with the One who created and knew her from the beginning. 

They say that those who grieve much love much.  The love I have for my daughter currently has nowhere to go, so my grief companion, in some ways, helps me to direct that love. That direction is always to my three sweet grandchildren. Keeping their Mama alive in their hearts and minds. 

A Love that lasts Forever

While it is coming up a year since you have been gone from this earth, there are constant reminders of your presence. I see you in a sunrise, greeting me for another day. Your picture beside my bed calls me saying, “Hey Mama” or “I love you, Mama.” 

I see your face in each one of your children. I search for reminders of you in their looks, their personality, and their compassion for others. Harrison’s whimsical twinkle in his eye is so much like that bubbly, active little girl. While, in those days, you left me exhausted at the end of the day, I wouldn’t trade those years for anything other than a chance to hug you or hear your voice again.

I see you in Hadley’s compassion for others. She is always concerned with the other person’s feelings or comfort. When we visited the other day, she got up out of the recliner chair and said to Mike, “Papa, here is the chair for you.”  That is your voice, I hear. Your compassion has made a home in her heart and made it her own.  

Holden’s sweet hugs feel like they come from you. He has a quiet presence now and thinks deeply. His mind is always working, analyzing, and thinking. Your children are truly a gift from God.

My heart is still grieving for you. For the memories, we will not ever be able to make on this earth. I know you are with Jesus, and you are whole. While my heart knows this, the human part of me is grieving and will continue to grieve for the rest of my life here on this earth until we meet again.

I hear other mothers who have lost their children talk about the three, ten, and twenty years since they lost their children. My heart cannot bear thinking about being without you that long. The tears come even as I write these words. Time descriptors have a way of making your absence so concrete.

The day you left was the day I longed to go with you. That longing continued for days, weeks, and even months after your passing. While I still long to be with Jesus and you in so many ways, I know God has me here for a purpose.

I need to be involved in the lives of your children, my grandchildren. I not only need to remind them of you but also need to help instill the values, the love, and the caring for others within them. Their dad does that in the best way he can, but it’s the grandma touch, the female influence they also need. 

And while next week will mark a whole year without you, I will choose to remember and be thankful for the 36 years with you. The memories we have made, the highs and the lows, are part of our story. Even through those more challenging times, we managed to come out on the same side, the side of love. I will continue to love you for eternity. No one can ever change that fact. A mother’s love is never-ending, never ceasing, never dying.