Facing It (Without Mom)

Dear UD,

It’s August, Mom’s birthday month, and I can’t believe she’s not here. I am almost exactly 20 years younger than her, and I counted on her turning older a few months before me. Mom would have been, should have been, 69 this year. How do I face turning 49 without her to show me the way?

Everything, everything, everything reminds me of her.

I walk to the pool and find mushrooms, sprung up overnight, and I think of Mom. I spy wildflowers growing near the fence, and I think of Mom. I see rippling rivers, and I think of Mom. A fog rolls in, and I think of Mom. The sunset or sunrise splashes against the sky, and I think of Mom. The moon rises, and I think of Mom. I reach for the phone to send her a text or call her to tell her about something, and I think of Mom.

Everything, everything, everything, all day, every day, reminds me of her.

There have been too many changes in the past five years and way too many changes this year alone. How do we face all of these changes? How do we face it when life changes everything and everything changes? How do we face it when we no longer have you or Dad or Mom to talk to?

I went back to Missouri this summer for Crawford Camp, our family reunion, and it was bittersweet. Precious because all ten of us kids and most of the grandkids were there. Special because there were strong connections yet little drama. Good because we played hard and had fun. Nourishing because we had delicious and healthy homecooked meals, like Mom taught us. Difficult because it was our first time there without Mom. Challenging and sad without her, without you, without dad. Her spirit, her lessons, her voice permeated everything we did that weekend. We congregated in the kitchen or outside, cooking, talking, laughing, but every second we were one hundred percent aware that Mom wasn’t there, that we missed her. On Saturday morning, I woke up to fog and sunrise over the river, and tears rolled down my face as I thought how much Mom would have loved that. Will we ever have Crawford Camp again? How do we face family reunions without Mom?

The next week, I stayed with Jill and spent time with various family members during the week and helped with VBS at Bado Church. The past two summers, I’d helped Mom prepare for VBS and taken photos of the kids during it. This summer, it was surreal, distressing, devastating that she wasn’t there teaching one of the classes. And three of her grandkids were baptized that Sunday. I snapped photos of this joyous occasion, but I almost didn’t make it through. Mom would have loved that night so much, and it’s heartbreaking without her there. How do we face it? Sherry helped when she said she knew Mom was rejoicing in heaven that night. But will I ever be part of VBS at Bado Church again? Will the next generation still go there?

I went to Union Cemetery to visit Mom and Dad. First, I picked wildflowers and took them to the grave. I cried and talked to Mom. It’s still so unbelievable. Words can’t convey the pain and difficulty of facing a mother’s gravesite.

As I drove away from the family farm and the town where I grew up, I wondered if I’d ever stay there again? If I’d ever attend a holiday celebration there again? How do we face it when our childhood memories are being obliterated so that we can’t even recreate them for the next generation and the only thing left is memory?

Summer 2019—the first summer in my memory where I didn’t eat anything fresh out of my mom’s garden when visiting that area. How do we face the lack of bounty? I found some jars of canned beets and tomato juice, and this year, I shared the beets with my sisters. The tomato juice sits in my fridge unopened. Once that is gone, I will never again have anything to eat or drink that my Mom made. How do I face that?

Too many changes. Too much loss. How do we face it?

UD, the Amazon, the lungs of the earth, is burning. Every day, it seems, there’s a new nightmarish headline, and those unbelievable stories combined with such personal loss is staggering. Cataclysmic. How do we face it all?

It’s August and Mom’s birthday. Three years ago, I hosted a birthday party for her, and all the family came. I hold precious memories of that day, the last birthday I celebrated with Mom in person. I want her to have more birthday celebrations for me to attend. Today, I want to call her up and wish her a Happy Birthday and tell her how much I love her. But I can’t. How do we face the day without her?

I don’t want to face it…

In “the Journey Through Grief: The Mourner’s Six ‘Reconciliation Needs’,” Alan Wolfelt states, “Grief is what you think and feel on the inside after someone you love dies. Mourning is the outward expression of those thoughts and feelings. To mourn is to be an active participant in our grief journeys. We all grieve when someone we love dies, but if we are to heal, we must also mourn.”

Although I don’t want to face her birthday without her here, it has come regardless, so I will surround myself with some of Mom’s favorites. I brought home sunflowers for the dining room table, and I’ll listen to the Beach Boys sing “Barbara Ann.” I’ll make an egg sandwich for breakfast, and for dinner, I’ll eat the hamburger, potato, carrot dish that I made from Grandma Bonnie’s recipe in the family cookbook. Then, we’ll watch Prince of Persia, one of the last few movies I watched with Mom and one that she loved. And, I’ll drink herb tea and light a candle that smells like honeysuckle. Every moment of this day will be in honor and love and memory of Mom.

UD, I’ll end with a Bible verse that she loved and lived: Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8. I thank Mom for the gift of her example, and today and every day, I aspire to be like her and live this verse.

Love, Rach