Mother's Day Without Our Mothers

A void is, by definition, an empty space, a vacuum. But I'd really like someone to tell me how emptiness can be so heavy. I mean, emptiness should be weightless, right? Nothingness? But that doesn't seem to be the case. 

I am, as they say, of a certain age. In the past two years, I have multiple friends who have lost their mothers. We are just in that season of our lives. And these friends, most of them enjoyed the blessing of their mothers for a good many years, but that changes little when it comes to loss. Losing someone, particularly a mom, can bring with it some pretty heavy feelings; hence, my marveling at the incalculable and completely unexpected weight of emptiness. As time has passed and the proverbial smoke has cleared, I have found myself grieving more than I did when my mother shuffled off this mortal coil. I am more aware of the loss and much more cognizant of the accompanying feelings. 

There's guilt, sorrow, longing; there's the disappointment of dreams that will never come true; there's pity for her and the parts of her that were never healed when she was with us; there's a wondering about what that healing looks like today; there's emptiness where purpose used to be; there are flowers blooming and warm days and birds singing without her --which I know is not a feeling, but for all the years she was with us, my brain has intrinsically linked all of Spring with her. There are empty chairs and blocks on the calendar that would never be so, were it not for her absence. There are birds that will land without comment and a dog that will go unscratched and sunglasses that hang by the door waiting to greet the summer sun. There is a room I will never again visit and laundry I will never again fold. There are cupcakes that will go unpurchased and walks that will never be taken. There are azaleas blooming in the local cemetery that will do so without their biggest fan. I'm finding the only thing that wounds more sharply than mail addressed to her is the blackness of an empty mailbox day after day. And there is pain, a great deal of pain.  

But there are happy tears mingled with sad. The empty spaces allow joy room to dance. Guilt flees at the first sign of truth. Disappointment gives way to hope which weaves its way through the tapestry of all life --good and bad --for those who trust in Christ. Pain and longing will come and go pretty much as they please, popping up when least expected or least convenient; but the longing is simply for a day, a day in which I will see my mother as she was meant to be, and the pain is nothing more than a heart so full of love it stretches its own boundaries until the day we meet again.