This time of year is always hard. The visceral aspect of my memory reacts strongly to the smell and feel of late Spring, so while this is a time of leaving winter behind, of new beginnings and the anticipation of summer fun, it always carries an undercurrent of sorrow for me. Some days I wake up with the heaviness of holding Leah's precious body in my womb, while she struggled to grow even as the fluid required to sustain her slowly shut down her heart. I feel the weight of knowing we had such a short time to be with her, the despair born of helplessness from being in a situation I could neither fix nor control. It has been so long since Leah died, and life is so full that I don't deal with this often, but this time of year it inevitably surfaces.
Then my Mom died in the Spring. Now my griefs collide. The fresh, strong sorrow mingles with the old familiar quiet one. Mom's integral role in supporting Jeff and me through losing Leah makes those memories all the more poignant this year. I wish I could show you the picture I carry in my mind of my mom walking Leah's body to the hospital morgue. When we decided it was time to let her go, neither Jeff nor I were able to take her, but my mom insisted that she could. And she did. In the last memory I have of my daughter, she is cradled in my mother's fiercely protective arms. Mom walked out of that room with a determination and sense of purpose, I almost want to say she marched. She held her first grandchild so tenderly and proudly, and she would watch over her and care for her until the last possible moment. I have always treasured that, her strength in my weakness. My mom shone in impossible situations.
Mom had a way of knowing what to do when you were hurting, of knowing what to ask and how to meet your need. I think one of the hardest things of grieving my mom is doing it without her support. I really wish I could call her and complain about how much I miss her, and admit that she was right about how certain things would play out (she had become a fan of predicting how some thing would go after she was gone), and ask her how to explain all this to my littlest guys, who are still asking when she is coming back from heaven to visit. Sometimes you just need your mom. I need my mom this time of year, when I miss my daughter the most. Death is the worst, at least for those who are left behind. Like Leah, Mom's pain is gone. They have peace and freedom with Jesus, so I don't mourn for them, I mourn for me.
Then my Mom died in the Spring. Now my griefs collide. The fresh, strong sorrow mingles with the old familiar quiet one. Mom's integral role in supporting Jeff and me through losing Leah makes those memories all the more poignant this year. I wish I could show you the picture I carry in my mind of my mom walking Leah's body to the hospital morgue. When we decided it was time to let her go, neither Jeff nor I were able to take her, but my mom insisted that she could. And she did. In the last memory I have of my daughter, she is cradled in my mother's fiercely protective arms. Mom walked out of that room with a determination and sense of purpose, I almost want to say she marched. She held her first grandchild so tenderly and proudly, and she would watch over her and care for her until the last possible moment. I have always treasured that, her strength in my weakness. My mom shone in impossible situations.
Mom had a way of knowing what to do when you were hurting, of knowing what to ask and how to meet your need. I think one of the hardest things of grieving my mom is doing it without her support. I really wish I could call her and complain about how much I miss her, and admit that she was right about how certain things would play out (she had become a fan of predicting how some thing would go after she was gone), and ask her how to explain all this to my littlest guys, who are still asking when she is coming back from heaven to visit. Sometimes you just need your mom. I need my mom this time of year, when I miss my daughter the most. Death is the worst, at least for those who are left behind. Like Leah, Mom's pain is gone. They have peace and freedom with Jesus, so I don't mourn for them, I mourn for me.
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