A Season of Loss

Why grieve death?  It is inevitable; we all die, and we all know that one day, our time with come.  Those who are not here and just that:  not here.  They don't see the tears, experience the heartache, shoulder the weight that settles so heavily.

The living grieve death.  Life cut short, gone from us from this present world.  The passing of time does not make the sadness of living without them any easier.  And so many reminders as of late.  Seven local students dead.  A college friend dying of cancer.  A child murdered.  My own daughter almost drowning just three months ago.  The miscarriage we just went through a month ago.

I know, I know, I'm being melancholy.  But it's October 1st again.

Don't get me wrong; I love fall.  Changing leaves and apple cider.  Cooler weather, breezy days.  But ever year since the year I turned eight, fall begins with death.

I can close my eyes and still see the pictures of our smashed mini-van, and his totaled pick-up.  I can still see her in her casket, feel her cold and dry skin; I can still remember the vow I took that day that I would not cry over her death again, and I didn't, for five long and hard years.  I still feel the rage bubble up at times, over his stupid and senseless driving after a day of fishing and drinking beer at the lake that resulted in the loss of two lives.  After so many years, I still want to scream at God at the senselessness at her death; she was only thirty-six and had four children who desperately needed her.

But I don't.

No, I don't scream.  The tears ceased falling some time ago.  Life in its own way moved on without her.  Somehow, we picked up the shattered pieces of our lives, clumsily glued them back together, and life continued.  Dad remarried.  Two more siblings.  High school graduation.  College.  Another graduation, this time with honors.  Boyfriends.  Heartaches.  Ministry.  Adulthood.  Marriage.  Two children of my own.

But I still grieve.

Beneath the surface, my heart still bleeds.  It weeps for things I never got to share with her.  A good exam.  My first kiss.  The rise and fall of the ministry with Wycliffe. All four of her childrens' weddings.  A cup of coffee.  Snuggling newborn grandchildren.  Late night phone calls.  Becoming the woman she wanted me to be.  Time.

I was robbed of time.

I may be days away from turning thirty, but I still yearn and long and ache for my mother as much as I did that fateful autumn day so many years ago.  God, will I ever understand why?

I miss you, Mom.