My youngest daughter is going through Confirmation class, although class feels like an inadequate term for it. As Presbyterians, during this process spanning several months, young people explore their faith journey and articulate their faith in Christ through study, service, and reflective time.
This weekend was her overnight retreat and my task was to write a love letter expressing my adoration and appreciation for her, my hopes and dreams for her future, and what my faith has meant to me. This alone is enough to make any mother of a 14-year-old girl sink more than a little bit into snuffly nostalgia.
I had that and more. I felt like a bandage was being ripped off– millimeter by excruciatingly slow millimeter—painfully exposing to the air my grief over my mother’s death. Two years ago, my oldest daughter was confirmed and it was the last time my mother spent the weekend at my house to celebrate yet another milestone. She never missed one. Preparing for my mother’s visits was an integral part of every holiday and celebration—something I have missed with every fiber of my heart. I keep her purse on the bench by the back door where she would always leave it because I cannot bear to do anything else with it.
It took me three days to get far enough past the tears to compose the letter, but I did, and I, in turn, brought my daughter to tears . . . and annoyance. I knew they read the letters in private at the retreat and I knew it would pull at her heartstrings, so I wanted to temper that. In an attempt to make her laugh I filled her letter with confetti. However, she opened it in the sanctuary and my shining star had to spend a good chunk of her time scraping up pesky, tiny stars from under the pews. Laughter or annoyance—whatever—I took her through a gamut of emotions and she felt my presence through her tears.
And I gave her a good story because “thanks a lot for the glitter bomb,” were her first words when I saw her. Her next words were to remind me that she needed to find a Bible verse to center her Statement of Faith around.
I immediately turned to my mother’s Bible because she was a verse highlighting maestro. As I opened the zippered cover, an index card fluttered to the floor. On it was the date June 29, 2013 and this verse: “Christ gives me the strength to face anything,” (Philippians 4:13).
June 29, 2013 was the date she was killed in the car accident.
My entire week crashed down on me and I headed out the door to take a walk. My feet led me to a familiar four-mile country road circuit, the first mile of which I allowed myself an ugly, wailing weep like I had not allowed myself in almost a year.
But after a mile, I was done. I had sobbed my way through those four miles, and more, many times immediately after my mom’s death, but one mile was enough this time. I don’t think the hole in my heart is any shallower, but I am able to bounce up from the bottom of it faster.
Those tears worked to clear a space for appreciation. For one, I have not had a new reason to grieve in the past two years; I have been given room to heal. As this thought entered my head, I was actually able to look around and see the field filled with robins–the first I had seen of the season–the ground barely clear from the recent spring snowstorm, the swan song of a brutal winter.
And I was able to appreciate that even though it has been almost two years since I have felt my mom’s arms around me, I could still feel her touch. Her love and faith were still powerful enough to reach and soothe two generations of the people she loved the most. What greater example of a Statement of Faith could my daughter or I ask for?
–Ellen
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Beautifully written, Ellen. Sending a hug your way!
Thank you, Nicole. <3 Ellen
Ellen: What a beautiful piece – thank you so much for sharing. It’s surprising how long it takes grief to surface. After my dad died, it was several months before I cried. I wanted to hold his hand and realized I never would again. So, in the Kroger parking lot of all places, I completely lost it. Your sharing this intimate moment helps so many of us who have experienced the same. Thank you! Donna
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Thank you! The piece composed itself in my head as I was walking. I had to put it “down on paper” to fully process my feelings, but I shared it in hopes of helping others. Thank you for sharing your experience with me. Ellen
Goosebumps again Ellen. I’m so sorry your mom is not here but I’m so glad you are able to feel her presence when you need her most. xo
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I have to say that I have read a lot today, but nothing has touched me more than this. My mom is still living buy has Alzheimer’s Disease and while she is still here in another important way she really isn’t. I miss her so bad sometimes, but this has taught me to appreciate what I still have and to have Faith that everything will be okay.
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Oh Ellen, I just don’t have words. You know this is making me sob–for the beauty of the way your mom still loves you, your heart that still breaks, and the amazing job you are doing raising your girls. xoxoxo
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What an amazing gift that index card is. She was ready and at peace!! God knew you needed to know that. My mom kept many spiritual journals but the ones that she wrote on her lasts days are near and dear to my heart. In fact I framed one of them that she wrote a few days before she died. It gives me the peace that I need. It didn’t take away the heartache but knowing that she was ready and that I WILL see her again gave me (and still gives me 30 years later) so much hope and peace. I do not fear death. Reading you post really does give me goosebumps. And now you are able to pass along your mother’s incredible faith in Christ to your daughter(s). God is Good!!
This is painfully beautiful. I’m so glad I popped over here to read this. What a story. I’m so sorry for your heartbreak and loss of your mom!!! This is such a testimony to how your mom’s faith is still pouring forth onto you and your daughter. That verse, perfectly on purpose. <3
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Simply lovely, thank you for sharing. Your writings are a beautiful tribute to the family you love, and something tangible for the girls to treasure.
Tears. So many tears. This is beautiful. My thoughts and prayers will be with you on your daughter’s Confirmation day. xoxo
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I was with Meredith in Pittsburgh when she got the news that your mom had died. I had only begun reading you and getting to know you ladies at that time, and I quickly learned–and have come to fully believe–that you are GOOD PEOPLE. You’ve got a big heart which is certainly due in part to your beautiful mother. You’re in my thoughts xoxo
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