My Grief Story
Jesus’ role in mourning.
My mother was an only child. My grandparents raised her in a small house in a small town. Her name was Connie Sue. She loved to dance, play in the marching band and hum along to all of her favorite songs. Some of my earliest memories of my mother are of being my ballet instructor. Teaching dance was her happy place. She always felt like she had more to learn and soaked up every moment of teaching others. That was her — always wanting to help others, teach them things and help them grow. I am so proud to be her daughter.
She was a single mother. My parents had joint custody growing up, but my sister and I primarily lived with our mom. She worked tirelessly and did everything she could to provide for us. I remember her best friend, Lisa, talked about how she would have given anything up for us girls during my mom’s eulogy. That is a fact that I know to be truth.
My mom was sick for a while, but we could never pinpoint what was wrong. All we knew was she wasn’t keeping food down, she couldn’t sleep and she was exhausted — to the core. She began seeing specialists, did a sleep study and eventually her doctor determined that she had a hernia from when she was pregnant with my sister. My sister was 22 when they found that out, which meant my mother had this hernia for 22 years. The treatment was a surgery — a routine surgery. She scheduled it for mid-November of 2013 and eagerly awaited the day where she would feel healthy again.
On November 29, 2013 I woke up and immediately knew that something was missing. I felt an absence that I could never accurately describe in words. Soon after I woke, I would find out that my mother didn’t make it through the night. There was a moment of stillness within me when I heard the paramedic say those words. He asked me if I wanted to see her. I said no. I sat on the couch and repeated this: “It’s going to be okay.”
There are many more details to this day, too painful to share right now. But I can tell you that I was both right and wrong about being okay.
For a while I was really, really not okay. My entire life had changed in just a split second. How was I supposed to move forward from here? I didn’t know how to be a daughter without a mother. I was so angry with God that I completely walked away from my faith, convinced that He didn’t have the very best in mind for my life.
As I tried to ignore Jesus, He pursued me even more. Everywhere I turned, He was there taking care of me. I can look back on my grief story now and see Him all over the place, especially with the people he provided to take care of me and love me as their own.
Eventually I met my friend Vivian, who had lost her mother when she was 10. She began Too Damn Young, a blog for grieving young adults and teens. She worked so hard to help others overcome their loneliness in some of the darkest depths of grief. I was inspired to do the same in some capacity. I soon began writing about my grief on the site, and now on a blog of my own. Even when I felt like I didn’t have the words to describe what I was experiencing, Jesus provided them for me.
Along the way, I would meet more people who were also grieving too young, and they would bravely tell me their own stories. I realized that when others opened up to me, I felt blessed. I was honored to be trusted with their stories of pain and mourning. I know that as long as Jesus keeps bringing me people, I will be inspired to love and serve even more.
Remember when I said my mother longed for the day where she would be healthy again? My mother was a firm believer in our God. I have peace, so much peace, knowing that she is healed. She is better. I wish the outcome were different, but that is what I hold onto the most.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18
