I meant to go to Good Friday service this evening, but a much-needed nap won over when I slept for three hours straight. Easter is obviously an important holiday to me in my faith, but for me, a dark shadow looms on the whole season. In a week, it will have been nineteen years since I lost my mom.
I doesn't seem that long ago that I woke up one Easter morning to the phone ringing as the hospital called to tell us that she'd been moved to the ICU as she'd taken a sudden turn for the worse. That Wednesday, the 14th, she lost her battle with the infection. She was 26. I was nine.
In a way, it may be because I lost her before I had a chance to know her as a person, not just mom, that I haven't lost my faith amid my doubts, even as my faith has evolved. I can't deal with a reality in which I'd never see her again. It's why songs like these still move me to both grief and hope.
I miss you, Mom. I miss you so much.
I had more to say, but it's hard to translate the emotions into words.