Unexpected Grief
Walking though Grief and Joy
Mother’s Day. A day filled with card swapping, note writing, and kids making their mom’s day special. “All I want for Mother’s Day is my kids to go to church with me and for us to be together as a family.” But it’s also kinda nice if dad takes care of breakfast, morning chores, getting kids bathed and ready for church, as well as making the morning slow and special for mom. This is a hallmark combination of what I remember Mother’s Day being like in my house as a kid and how we try to make it in mine as an adult and a dad. Relaxation. Appreciation. A day off.
January 14, 2021. A date that has and will impact my life forever. The day that my mom died. Many chaotic things happened in the days surrounding her death (some probably still too painful to write or think about), but my brother, dad, and I were all able to be there in those final moments. To this day, I still can’t remember the exact words we all shared outside of the broken prayers and the repeated, “I love you,” but I do remember the surprise, or rather, the fact that there wasn’t any. This is a moment and day that I had been mentally, emotionally, and spiritually preparing for since we found out how serious things had gotten with her health in May 2020. After my brother and I spent some time back home that month, we knew that any phone call from dad might be “that” call.
Preparing for a loved one’s death is like slowly putting armor on parts of your heart where you expect an injury to occur. If you have any level of self awareness and understanding, you might be able to anticipate some of what you’ll experience and feel in the days and weeks ahead. Unfortunately, I lack in both of those things. I am usually quite unaware what I am feeling, and remain completely clueless as to why. My wife helps a lot in these situations, but often so much time has passed from when the feelings have happened to when we debrief that I’m sure I’m little help in the effort.
When Mother’s Day 2021 came around, I was prepared. I knew that the day would be tough. I knew that I would miss my mom more than ever. I knew that people around me would share words of comfort and peace in the absence of our usual happy wishes on that day. Even my wife was aware that I might not quite fulfill the usual husband obligations for a mom of young children on Mother’s Day. We talked, prayed, and processed. I talked to my dad and brother and we shared where we were at on the first Mother’s Day without mom. It wasn’t easy, but we were ready.
Looking back on that year, I must’ve been completely gritting my teeth and hoping to stave off any and all tears. I say ‘must’ve’ because most of it was a blur. Our daughter was hardly sleeping and we felt like zombies. If there was opportunity to grieve properly, it was quickly interrupted by her crying or my own suppression. But eventually the gritting had to stop. And it stopped on July 9th, 2021. Our anniversary. On our 5 year anniversary, I completely failed at all of the usual anniversary duties. I was in a terrible mood, failed in gift giving, and had done almost no planning for us to even do anything special. It was a dud.
What took us the rest of the day to figure out (probably for me, but not for my wife), was that I was actively grieving my mom…on my anniversary. It was unexpected. Most spouses know that the first major holidays after a loved one dies would be fair game for grief, but one holiday you do not expect for your mom is your own anniversary. My wife took the day in stride and we’ve had quite a few healthy conversations about unexpected moments of grief.
We know that Christmas, Mother’s Day, her birthday, and the anniversary of her death are going to be hard days, but because of this moment, we’ve also been able to talk about the days that might not be so obvious. We knew that there must be a connection to the day that lives deeper than just the estate of marriage or the reception, and I think it’s the mother-son dance. This dance is a moment I can think about and immediately remember with joy - not just my own, but also my mom’s joy for us.
Every single ‘favorite’ picture of my mom has a sound. I can quite literally hear her laugh in this one. Yes it was a laugh that had some happy tears mixed in, but a laugh nonetheless. No matter what I said in this moment, it was sure to bring out a laugh in her, and it didn’t take much for her to laugh to begin with. So, I went through life thinking that I was quite funny. She had some explaining to do when I finally got married and the jokes just didn’t have the same effect anymore.
When I think about what made her laugh and smile with such joy its this: she had succeeded in the primary part of her job of raising kids. Her sons loved Jesus, loved their families, and still enjoyed being part of their parent’s lives. She gave us our identities and values as a gift to us in the future. She raised us to be who we needed to be for the people we love. Hands and feet of Jesus? Yes, indeed. But lots of under-appreciated and invisible work? Oh yeah.
There was a saying that she had in her journals, Bible, and various post-it notes. We used it in her obituary. “Joy grows through trouble.” My mom had seen a lot of trouble. Not just from her sickness, but all through her life. Yet what everyone remembers of her and will talk about is her joy. Joy despite trouble. Joy, that no doubt, had many opportunities to grow. When my brother visited in May, we heard her keep saying, “I love Jesus,” and we knew she was ok. Even though we weren’t going to be ok without her.
When we were engaged, Brittany made me an Avenger’s quilt that is stilled used by me or my children on a daily basis. Unfortunately, my reaction to such a labor of love was not the best. Almost a decade later, I had an opportunity to make amends. When it was time for me to be ordained, Brittany decided that she wanted to make the red stole that I would be ordained in and use for the rest of my ministry. If this were not a big enough deal, she also included an incredibly special detail: a small heart on the inside that is made from the dress my mom wore to our wedding.
I think my reaction was up to snuff this time, because I cried…a lot. From grief and pain, as well as from joy and excitement. What a way to honor my mom and her joy. Her joy in Jesus, her joy in her family. Her joy in life. On Thursday, the High School I teach at will have its annual Baccalaureate service and I’ll put on this stole. As I put it on, I’ll give it two small kisses: one on the heart and one on the cross on the back. So far, every single time I’ve put it on I’ve smiled. Maybe not as big as my mom does, but pretty big.
I miss my mom. I miss playing 1-on-1 volleyball in the backyard. I miss hearing about the latest haul of unexpected berries. I miss the random loaves of Great Harvest bread on Saturday mornings. I miss the fact that every single recipe was a once-in-a-lifetime dish, never to be repeated again. I miss “here come the rain, here come the rain” every time it starts raining. I miss listening to the Carpenters in the Bonneville. I miss being her personal chauffeur and going to Subway before Confirmation class. I even miss eating scrambled eggs that were prepared in coconut oil. But mostly I miss being able to talk to her. I miss calling her in the summertime during the day and hearing “Emergency Medicine, this is Sue.”
We’ve been talking about missing lately and Brittany asked me a question that hasn’t left yet: what’s something that we can do on Mother’s Day that makes you feel like you’re honoring your mom? I don’t think I hesitated at all. Going for a walk. My mom loved to walk. Every single day, she went for a walk. Morning, noon, night. She was always walking. Even if I didn’t go with her, the images I have in my head of my mom are of her on the move. Down the road and around the loop. So today, we’re going to walk. And we’re going to talk about Grammy.