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Well, it's taken me a whole year to write this, but here it is -- what I wanted to say about my mom and about my loss of her. I guess it's appropriate that I should finally find the words for it in the final days before Mother's Day!
My family has always been fond of nicknames for each other. We have whole lists of them, usually silly ones that we wouldn't allow to be repeated outside the family -- but to us they are special endearments. One such name is the name we assigned to my mom at some point -- Meyer. I think it got started one day when I came home from school and announced that I had learned the French word for mother (mère), and Meyer was my sister's mispronunciation of that word. We thought it was funny, and so, of course, that's all it took for it to become our name for Mom. She answered to "Meyer" for years, and we all still call her that, actually, even though she is no longer with us.
Sometimes we would just call "Meyer, Meyer!" over and over again, and when my mom would come to find out what we wanted, we'd simply say, "Oh, we were just saying your name for comfort." She'd always laugh and shake her head in mock exasperation, but we could tell she liked it when we said that. She never minded being called away to see if we wanted something, because her reason for being on the earth was to serve, and she was always willing to drop what she was doing to see if someone needed something, and provide it if she could. Even if it was just us kids being silly in a loving sort of way.
Mother's Day last year was going to be a special time for my mom; she was all excited about it, because all of us kids and our families had made arrangements to gather and celebrate Mother's Day with her -- it was actually the first time in ages that we'd be all together and able to bless her on her day like that, and she was really looking forward to it. We didn't know this at the time, of course, but she had told our neighbor how excited she was that we were all coming, and he shared it with us afterwards.
Because it didn't happen that way. The day we were all scheduled to arrive for our visit -- May 10, 2008 -- was the day she was called out of this world, and so Mother's Day turned out to be a day of visiting the funeral home to make plans for her memorial, rather than gathering with her to tell her what a special mom she was. We told her that anyway, while we were making funeral arrangements, and found comfort in knowing that she had known she was special, even if we were having to tell her in a different way than we had expected.
It was an interesting time for me, to say the least. I had always wondered how I would cope when the time came for one of my parents to be taken. My greatest fear was that it would happen when I was overseas, and I wouldn't be able to come until it was all over, and too late. Thankfully, that was not the case -- and I think that made a difference to me throughout the ordeal, even in spite of the shock of it being so unexpected.
So how did I cope? Amazingly, it seems to me. To this day, I look back and marvel at the forms grief takes. I cried very little, I think because I was too busy being "Big Sister" and "Eldest Daughter." I was the one everyone turned to, from the minute I got the call from my brother about what had happened. That was good for me, because I am nothing if not my mother's daughter, and I take after her in wanting to be available to serve those who need me. And that gave me strength when I needed it most, and afterwards, I was already strong and ready to keep on going.
The fact that my mom had a servant's heart, and I wanted to emulate that, was one reason why I felt it important to give her eulogy at the funeral service. My brother and sister thought I was crazy to get up in front of people and try to say something without crying, but once the idea came to me, I couldn't let go of it -- and I pulled it off pretty well, I think! Here's what I had to say, if you are interested in hearing it. The text I share from is Proverbs 31:10-31, about the wife who is worth more than rubies...
The Excellent Wife and Mother -- A Eulogy
Of course it was a sad time -- yet is was also a time of joy and laughing. My sister and I were in charge of putting a photo montage together for the funeral visitation, and I can't remember having so much fun looking at those pictures of my mom, and laughing over this or that memory. Since that time, I'm still chuckling more than I am weeping when I think of my mom, or speak of her with my family, or look at her picture on my fridge. Sometimes I feel a little odd when I see her picture, that it's just too weird that she's not around any more, and was it really all a dream? And I sometimes wonder if it's natural for me to have more giggles than tears. I think it is for me, though, because I just can't seem to experience anything sorrowful without finding the joy in it as well.
I wrote the following in the blog of a person who had lost several friends all at once and was pondering how one managed to make it through such a time:
There's very little someone on the outside can say at a time like this, though being able to say "I understand" helps a little. I do understand, quite well. My mother died just three months ago, very unexpectedly, the day before Mother's Day. I thought, too, that she wasn't done, that it was too soon, and yet I have always believed that these things aren't for us to decide or control, and that there must be some reason why such things happen when they do and whether or not I ever know why doesn't really matter -- and not even my mother's loss has changed that belief, so I am finding much comfort and renewed strength in that.
Even so, sudden unexpected loss of anyone who is a vital part of your life is difficult, because we can't help wishing our loved ones were still here to keep doing what they did so marvelously, and we can't help regretting that they didn't have longer to spend with us. Life does go on and while it is still good, it's not the same, and that hurts, sometimes a lot. There is a hole that is created by their absence that can't be filled by anything or anyone else -- some days it's just there and doesn't hurt anything, but other days it can't be ignored. I don't think we have to ignore that or even try to get over it; it's simply another stage of our relationship with the people we love that we have to go through -- hopefully gracefully, even if not without sorrow.
Some months after my mom's death, I came across a song while watching a music video on Youtube, and it really spoke to me -- not so much because I was struggling through a storm in my life at the time of discovering the song, but because I realized I had already experienced such a storm and I had passed through it hardly even windblown, because I had known without doubt that God was with me.
Here's the song, and also the lyrics:
Praise You In This Storm
by Casting Crowns
I was sure by now
That You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away;
Stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining.
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain,
“I’m with you.”
And as You mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away.
I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands,
For You are who You are
No matter where I am.
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand;
You never left my side.
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
I remember when
I stumbled in the wind;
You heard my cry,
You raised me up again.
My strength is almost gone,
How can I carry on
If I can’t find You?
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
“I’m with you.”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away.
I lift my eyes unto the hills,
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
The Maker of Heaven and Earth.
I don't always talk about my faith in God, but it is always there, a firm foundation upon which my entire life is based. It's faith and a firm hope based on experience as well as teaching, that God knows what He is doing, even if I can't fathom it at the time. I find it (usually) easy to rest in that knowledge, though I know it's not necessarily something others find easy or understandable, or even true. And that's okay. But for me, I believe that God knows the plans He has for me, plans for good and not evil, to give me hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). It's one of the things my mom taught me, not just in words, but in example. Her faith was firm and made her ready to meet that unexpected calling home, and my faith makes me able to understand it as just that, a calling home -- God deciding it was time, Him hearing her wish to not live to be 100 years old like her mother and grandmother before her, the Father knowing she was weaker than we all suspected and that it was better for her to be with Him, and me missing her, but not having to feel that it was wrong that she went, or that it was somehow my fault, or regretting that I hadn't done more while I had the chance. I didn't need the doctor telling us that her heart was worn out from her years-long fight with diabetes and that there was nothing anyone could have done, in order for me to be comforted, because I already felt it was okay, and she would have been the first to say, "Don't worry! It's all right, God knows what He is doing."
There is now just the aftermath of learning to live differently now that she isn't here, and I am managing that -- with joy, and with tears now and then, and with giggles and laughter at fond memories, and with the nostalgic gathering of tokens that bring back those memories, and above all with confidence that God knows, and is with me, even when my heart is torn.
Mother's Day -- or should I say, Meyer's Day? -- will never be the same now, it will always be tied up in that day when she went away, but it will also be all that more special a day of remembering her. We are gathering this year to be with my dad, just as we planned to gather last year. We're going to go to the cemetery and take her some flowers, and then take my dad out to eat, and I imagine we'll shed a tear or two -- but they probably won't be noticed much, because we'll all be laughing and remembering funny things she used to do and say, and just having a good time together, saying Meyer's name for comfort. ;-)
My family has always been fond of nicknames for each other. We have whole lists of them, usually silly ones that we wouldn't allow to be repeated outside the family -- but to us they are special endearments. One such name is the name we assigned to my mom at some point -- Meyer. I think it got started one day when I came home from school and announced that I had learned the French word for mother (mère), and Meyer was my sister's mispronunciation of that word. We thought it was funny, and so, of course, that's all it took for it to become our name for Mom. She answered to "Meyer" for years, and we all still call her that, actually, even though she is no longer with us.
Sometimes we would just call "Meyer, Meyer!" over and over again, and when my mom would come to find out what we wanted, we'd simply say, "Oh, we were just saying your name for comfort." She'd always laugh and shake her head in mock exasperation, but we could tell she liked it when we said that. She never minded being called away to see if we wanted something, because her reason for being on the earth was to serve, and she was always willing to drop what she was doing to see if someone needed something, and provide it if she could. Even if it was just us kids being silly in a loving sort of way.
Mother's Day last year was going to be a special time for my mom; she was all excited about it, because all of us kids and our families had made arrangements to gather and celebrate Mother's Day with her -- it was actually the first time in ages that we'd be all together and able to bless her on her day like that, and she was really looking forward to it. We didn't know this at the time, of course, but she had told our neighbor how excited she was that we were all coming, and he shared it with us afterwards.
Because it didn't happen that way. The day we were all scheduled to arrive for our visit -- May 10, 2008 -- was the day she was called out of this world, and so Mother's Day turned out to be a day of visiting the funeral home to make plans for her memorial, rather than gathering with her to tell her what a special mom she was. We told her that anyway, while we were making funeral arrangements, and found comfort in knowing that she had known she was special, even if we were having to tell her in a different way than we had expected.
It was an interesting time for me, to say the least. I had always wondered how I would cope when the time came for one of my parents to be taken. My greatest fear was that it would happen when I was overseas, and I wouldn't be able to come until it was all over, and too late. Thankfully, that was not the case -- and I think that made a difference to me throughout the ordeal, even in spite of the shock of it being so unexpected.
So how did I cope? Amazingly, it seems to me. To this day, I look back and marvel at the forms grief takes. I cried very little, I think because I was too busy being "Big Sister" and "Eldest Daughter." I was the one everyone turned to, from the minute I got the call from my brother about what had happened. That was good for me, because I am nothing if not my mother's daughter, and I take after her in wanting to be available to serve those who need me. And that gave me strength when I needed it most, and afterwards, I was already strong and ready to keep on going.
The fact that my mom had a servant's heart, and I wanted to emulate that, was one reason why I felt it important to give her eulogy at the funeral service. My brother and sister thought I was crazy to get up in front of people and try to say something without crying, but once the idea came to me, I couldn't let go of it -- and I pulled it off pretty well, I think! Here's what I had to say, if you are interested in hearing it. The text I share from is Proverbs 31:10-31, about the wife who is worth more than rubies...
The Excellent Wife and Mother -- A Eulogy
Of course it was a sad time -- yet is was also a time of joy and laughing. My sister and I were in charge of putting a photo montage together for the funeral visitation, and I can't remember having so much fun looking at those pictures of my mom, and laughing over this or that memory. Since that time, I'm still chuckling more than I am weeping when I think of my mom, or speak of her with my family, or look at her picture on my fridge. Sometimes I feel a little odd when I see her picture, that it's just too weird that she's not around any more, and was it really all a dream? And I sometimes wonder if it's natural for me to have more giggles than tears. I think it is for me, though, because I just can't seem to experience anything sorrowful without finding the joy in it as well.
I wrote the following in the blog of a person who had lost several friends all at once and was pondering how one managed to make it through such a time:
There's very little someone on the outside can say at a time like this, though being able to say "I understand" helps a little. I do understand, quite well. My mother died just three months ago, very unexpectedly, the day before Mother's Day. I thought, too, that she wasn't done, that it was too soon, and yet I have always believed that these things aren't for us to decide or control, and that there must be some reason why such things happen when they do and whether or not I ever know why doesn't really matter -- and not even my mother's loss has changed that belief, so I am finding much comfort and renewed strength in that.
Even so, sudden unexpected loss of anyone who is a vital part of your life is difficult, because we can't help wishing our loved ones were still here to keep doing what they did so marvelously, and we can't help regretting that they didn't have longer to spend with us. Life does go on and while it is still good, it's not the same, and that hurts, sometimes a lot. There is a hole that is created by their absence that can't be filled by anything or anyone else -- some days it's just there and doesn't hurt anything, but other days it can't be ignored. I don't think we have to ignore that or even try to get over it; it's simply another stage of our relationship with the people we love that we have to go through -- hopefully gracefully, even if not without sorrow.
Some months after my mom's death, I came across a song while watching a music video on Youtube, and it really spoke to me -- not so much because I was struggling through a storm in my life at the time of discovering the song, but because I realized I had already experienced such a storm and I had passed through it hardly even windblown, because I had known without doubt that God was with me.
Here's the song, and also the lyrics:
Praise You In This Storm
by Casting Crowns
I was sure by now
That You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away;
Stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining.
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain,
“I’m with you.”
And as You mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away.
I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands,
For You are who You are
No matter where I am.
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand;
You never left my side.
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
I remember when
I stumbled in the wind;
You heard my cry,
You raised me up again.
My strength is almost gone,
How can I carry on
If I can’t find You?
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
“I’m with you.”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away.
I lift my eyes unto the hills,
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
The Maker of Heaven and Earth.
I don't always talk about my faith in God, but it is always there, a firm foundation upon which my entire life is based. It's faith and a firm hope based on experience as well as teaching, that God knows what He is doing, even if I can't fathom it at the time. I find it (usually) easy to rest in that knowledge, though I know it's not necessarily something others find easy or understandable, or even true. And that's okay. But for me, I believe that God knows the plans He has for me, plans for good and not evil, to give me hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). It's one of the things my mom taught me, not just in words, but in example. Her faith was firm and made her ready to meet that unexpected calling home, and my faith makes me able to understand it as just that, a calling home -- God deciding it was time, Him hearing her wish to not live to be 100 years old like her mother and grandmother before her, the Father knowing she was weaker than we all suspected and that it was better for her to be with Him, and me missing her, but not having to feel that it was wrong that she went, or that it was somehow my fault, or regretting that I hadn't done more while I had the chance. I didn't need the doctor telling us that her heart was worn out from her years-long fight with diabetes and that there was nothing anyone could have done, in order for me to be comforted, because I already felt it was okay, and she would have been the first to say, "Don't worry! It's all right, God knows what He is doing."
There is now just the aftermath of learning to live differently now that she isn't here, and I am managing that -- with joy, and with tears now and then, and with giggles and laughter at fond memories, and with the nostalgic gathering of tokens that bring back those memories, and above all with confidence that God knows, and is with me, even when my heart is torn.
Mother's Day -- or should I say, Meyer's Day? -- will never be the same now, it will always be tied up in that day when she went away, but it will also be all that more special a day of remembering her. We are gathering this year to be with my dad, just as we planned to gather last year. We're going to go to the cemetery and take her some flowers, and then take my dad out to eat, and I imagine we'll shed a tear or two -- but they probably won't be noticed much, because we'll all be laughing and remembering funny things she used to do and say, and just having a good time together, saying Meyer's name for comfort. ;-)
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Date: 2009-05-09 04:38 am (UTC)From: