If I planted a seed for every thought or memory I had of you, the world would be so much more beautiful by now. But I don’t. I don’t even know how to plant a seed. I say a prayer instead and hope that your new world is so much more colourful for it.
It’s been one year, three months, and three days since you left, and my heart still breaks anew with every thought or reminder of you.
With every thought, I recommit:
- to starting over in order to live a life that counts for you and the rest of the world
- to become the daughter, you would have been proud of (even though that was always the case)
- to be the mum you so gracefully were. This, however, is the part where I falter.
The other day, I told my therapist that I could never be half the mum you were to me. It was quite a revelation. Somewhere in my subconscious, I’d been holding myself up to standards I could never meet. It dawned on me that I was fighting a losing battle. It’s one I could never stand a chance of winning.
She asked me what you’d have thought of that comment, and that’s when I realized that becoming you was never the point. You would have been aghast at the thought of me trying to be perfect like you. You didn’t raise my sisters or me to be you. You raised us to be ourselves in all of our glory. It’s funny how you still manage to bless me with your wisdom even in your absence.
I also did have an aha moment. By virtue of being of you, I can deploy from the superpowers you bequeathed me whenever I need them. I can also give myself permission to be messy and start over as many times as I deem fit. I can be gloriously imperfect in the way I show up in my role and still be the “perfect” mum to my kids (at least in their eyes)! I was chosen to mother them, just as you were to mother me. No one said we had to do it the same way. I get to give it my best.
I still miss you every day. We all do.
This past year has, however, been especially hard without you. I’ve lived through quarantine, birthed a baby in a pandemic a month after I lost you, homeschooled the kids (well, attempted to), started a business, had my mental health at an all-time low, started therapy because I would have lost my mind otherwise, paused my podcast. There’ve been so many highs, too, like managing to visit the most beautiful locations with the family. But the lows made me realize what a blessing it is to have had you as my mum.
Your colorful laughter would have brightened up my hard days. Your intense prayers and conviction would have banished my worries. You would have swooped in with your superwoman tendencies to care for me, the hubby, the new baby, and the kiddos. Your stories would have left me in stitches. Your faith would have strengthened mine. Your energy would have propelled me forward. Your courage would have been more than enough for us all. You would have done your absolute best to shield me from the lows.
The eyes are shedding tears, and the heart is grieved, and we will not say except what pleases our Lord. For it has indeed been a blessing to have known you.
I’m so thankful for the mum you were. I’m grateful for the lifetime of blessings I got to experience with and as a result of you.
I miss you and still have all kinds of conversations with you in my head. I think you’d be proud of the woman I’m becoming (ordering takeout for dinner sometimes and all).
I love you, now and always.