Mum, I’m often asked if I still miss you. I’m asked by people who suffer loss, if time has changed how I miss you. The short answer to these questions would be a firm ‘yes’.
Some people judge me because I no longer visit your grave. A lot of people have asked me how it is I can refrain from going to your grave. I have nothing against people who go to visit the graves of their loved ones. They need to do what they need to do. I am not the judge of this. However, I cannot go to your grave now and it has been many years since I’ve been to your grave. When you first left me, I needed to go there every single day. Sometimes I went twice a day. I felt like a raving lunatic but in a way it was necessary for me to go to your grave to even begin to grasp the fact that you were gone as going there made it real and broke through the numbness that took hold of me when you first passed. Now, going there makes your absence even more painful. I can’t bear that, mum. We all bear our grief differently. Every time I step into our home, I feel your absence. You’d be waiting for my return ever so eagerly. Every time, I have a moment, whether I’m out shopping or with friends, I feel your absence. I used to call you in those moments! Every time I have feelings that are different on a particular subject, which, tends to be most times, I feel your absence. You were incredibly tolerant of different views and you weren’t judgemental. You weren’t afraid of giving me a rocket if I needed it! 🙂 Every time I have to vent, I feel your absence. What a great listener you were. Every time I have great news, I feel your absence. You’d be the first one to hear it. Every time I have something frivolous or serious to share, I feel your absence. Your responses were always apt. The list goes on and one. It starts with “Every time I…” I don’t need your grave to make me realise you’re gone, mummy. I feel it in my bones. I feel it with every breath. It is real. I feel it every time.
There are moments when I can almost hear our chatter in the distance. It’s like watching a movie reel of our lives in moments past. I love these moments. They seem real at points and I feel like I get caught up in them. I’m not sure if I ever want these flashbacks to stop.
Over Christmas just past, I made some changes to our home. Some of these changes are things I talked about with you. I’ve been in sort of a reverie where there’s been an inertia holding me back from going ahead with things. Some of the changes are new – things I’ve recently thought about. I think you’d like what I’ve done to the place. Anyway, while going through the lockers to clear out stuff before they were pulled down, I found your old Bible studies. There was a question: ‘What have you learned from these lessons in Romans which will make a lasting difference in your life?’ And you answered: ‘I have a sinful nature. By accepting Christ, I am alive to a new nature. There is always conflict between the old and new natures. Victory is mine through Christ – by allowing His Spirit to control my new nature.’ Mum, this answer and many of your answers, where you thank God for me, my disposition and may other things that you said, brought tears to my eyes. This find was the best Christmas present ever: a legacy of your deepest thoughts. You shared your faith with me and in these books are the ways in which you processed your faith and came to a better understanding of our God. It’s almost as if I have you speaking to me still. No one else will ever share this part of you – of that I am acutely aware. You thanked God for me over and over again as your biggest blessing (apart from Jesus). Oh mum, how I am thanking Him now for you – over and over again.
Mum, I could go on and on about you. I’d sound like a broken record. The thing is, I think you’d be quite pleased with me now. I remember you. Well – it is a little hard to forget some of those rockets you gave me! 🙂 I did pay attention – and I find things so much better now. You taught me how to fight for what is right. I think I’m doing a reasonably good job with that. You taught me how to handle pain. I will never be able to imagine how you managed so much with your arthritis the way it was. I know God played a huge part in helping you maintain such a cheerful disposition. I have to learn this now: my pains are nowhere close to yours – but when it hurts, it hurts. Perhaps the biggest and most important thing that you taught me was about Jesus. I remember you. You taught me many things, mum. I remember you a lot.
I think I’ve slacked a little in somethings. I’ve tried to hold on to the things I accumulated from when you were still alive. Last Christmas – I got rid of a whole lot of stuff that I held on to. I didn’t have too much trouble disposing of King Lear! I never liked him! 🙂 Oh but mum – there were so many wonderful memories as I packed these books and things up to be given away. It revealed a lifetime of learning, tears, pain and joy among other things. They barely revealed the depth of the discussions you and I have had though they showed the amount of time you spent on me in my early years and the times we continued to spend with each other until you left. These memories cannot be packed up and given away. They are mine to treasure – and treasure them I will.
I think if I’m to answer the two questions I’m often asked – about whether I still miss you and if time has changed how I miss you, my answers would be a firm ‘yes’. There is no doubt. I don’t need a reminder now to know you’re gone. I feel it alright. It is a trial that I wish I hadn’t had to have borne the loss of you from the time I had to bear it. Yet – missing you has driven me into the arms of our Saviour, whose promise of the day when we are all united under Him with no more tears or pain or mourning (Revelation 21: 4) fills me with a hope that spurs me on. I will quote you from your study on James. You were asked in what way the study of the book of James helped you most. Your answer mum – was sterling. You said “Trials test our faith but we have to be firm. Prayer is a source of strength which will make us aware of God’s grace and change some of our wrong attitudes.”
On the 7th of January 2018, it will be 12 years since you left me. I thank God for where you are now. I thank God for you. I love you loads, mummy.
Grace for the soul 
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