Thursday, April 23, 2015

Alone



 I have been thinking about my own Mom lately. While growing up, when other kids would ask me about missing my mom I said, "What would I do with a mother if I had one? I can cook, do the laundry and clean the house. What would I do with a mother?" Back then I truly had no clue what I was missing on an emotional level. It wasn't until our daughter was born that I asked myself the first little question. What did my mom think of me when I was born? Was she glad I was a girl, was she disappointed? Did she think I was cute? Did she snuggle with me? Did she ever sing or read to me? Back then, the questions were short and quickly dismissed like all of my other feelings. "There is no way to know Jill, just buck up"

I am part of a group on Facebook for Mama's who are grieving the loss of their babies. I originally joined to be an encouragement to all the young Mama's who have had to say goodbye to their children much too early. Almost every day there is a precious picture of a baby whose life was cut way too short. Then I think of my mother and think about the life she lived and how it was cut way too short. My mother had four children at the time. When she fell asleep on the couch that fateful night, she had no idea she would never wake to see her children again.

My mother was cremated after she died. There was a memorial service for her. Her remains were never picked up by my dad. They sat in a little cardboard box in the basement of the funeral home for years, with just her name penciled in. My dad hadn't had the common decency to bury her, but walked away from her remains all those years ago. When I think about the lack of respect and decency, it makes me want to hurl. My sister and I went to the funeral when we were teenagers and inquired about her remains. The funeral home said any remains that had not been picked up are usually put in an unmarked grave. He went to the basement and low and behold, there was the box with our mother's remains. It had been over ten years that they sat in that funeral home basement.

I have come to realize that there is a giant size hole in my heart that doesn't seem to go away. Every single mother's day I feel this terrible emptiness. When I hear of women who have lost their mother's I am sad for them but deep inside of me my mind goes to a dark place. They have wonderful and maybe some not so wonderful memories, when they think of their mothers. I have nothing. Not one shred of one single memory before that fire started all those years ago.

I remember as a child in school, each year our classroom would make mother's day cards. We would make flowers out of tissue paper and design sweet cards for our mommies. Each year I would raise my hand and tell the teacher I didn't have a mom and I just got a pat on the head and told to make one anyway. Now my heart breaks when I hear of a Mama who died suddenly, leaving behind little children too young to remember them. It's the loss of memories that breaks my heart.

When I delivered our first born I begged God to allow me to raise her long enough to remember me. With each successive child I asked the Lord to please keep me on the earth long enough to have them remember me. As they started to get older I would go back in the mind the age I thought they should be safe to have memories should I die early. The Lord honored that request. I was privileged to raise my children all the way through. They will remember me, the good and the bad but at least they have memories.

I never miss an opportunity to tell my children I love them. It doesn't get old for me. I want them to know, deep inside of them that they are loved by me. I watched them grow from babies to adults. I am blessed. What I wouldn't give to hear just one time from my own mother, I love you Jill.
Some final thoughts tomorrow.
Till then, In Christ Alone



Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the ground each morning Satan says, "Oh crud, she's up".

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