My lovely Mommacita!
I think about you every day, sometimes with tears, sometimes with laughter, sometimes both. I tried to find the words to describe what that’s like, but this quote already does:
“Grief, I’ve learned is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.” – Jamie Anderson
How dare you not be here to receive my love!! Don’t you know I need to get all this love out of my heart so it isn’t so congested with homeless hugs and idle “I miss you’s”??
…I can almost hear you groaning and rolling your eyes at me! Ah man, do I miss giving you a hard time. 🙂 You received my sass so well; after all, you were the one who taught me how to dish it out! “Yeah Megan, like it’s MY fault!” you would joke back between laughs. Not only were you my mom, you were one of my dearest friends.
I don’t understand how 365 days can feel like 365 years and 365 seconds at the same time. It was a grueling year, but now that it’s over it feels like I blinked and found myself here. It’s finally here! Can you believe it? I know its been a long journey, but I leave for the World Race really soon. Five days in fact.
I know you’ve had some ups and downs regarding the Race, but I hope you know how much it meant to me to hear you say “I know you have to do this, of course God would pick you to go.” Even in the face of the most frightening unknown, you believed in me, and walked in obedience, not in fear.
I can only imagine how nervous you’d be if you were here. Even with stage 4 cancer, you found a way to worry about me more than yourself. I think that’s one of the best examples of being a mom, and the type of mom that you were.
Knowing you for 22 years and missing you for 1 has taught me a lot about impact, and how much of an impact you can have on a person. My dear friend Sarah gave me this bracelet that reads “Love Always” in your handwriting. I can think of no better way to summarize my goal in life to “Love God. Love others.” As I go on the Race, I will Love Always and as I live my life, I will Love Always.
Through all the packing and the preparing, here’s how I imagine our “goodbye” would look:
- I would tell you that I’m in the will of God, which is the best place to be. You would agree, but still worry.
- I’d tell you to eat more vegetables and less sweets. You’d roll your eyes and laugh. We both would doubt you’d listen.
- I’d be reassuring you that I haven’t forgotten to pack anything – we’ve double checked a hundred times.
- I’d promise to take a lot of pictures and call as often as I could (but we’d probably disagree on the definition of “often”).
- I’m not sure what I’d say when nothing else is left, I’d probably fall into your arms and cry, the weight of spending the next 11 months starved for your hugs looming heavily in my heart. You’d hold me close and cry too. We’d be quite the pair; blubbering about how much we love and will miss each other. We’d probably hold on for far too long, then dry each other’s tears and walk away, only to start crying all over again.
The pain of all these “would-be’s” stings. But I can honestly stand with a smile and say that I consider this pure joy. I admit, the thought of facing the World Race and beyond without you is hard and a little scary, but I draw strength from the reassurance that every day actually brings me closer to seeing you again.
Mom I still feel so small sometimes, and all I want is for you to hug me tightly and tell me everything will be alright. I wish I could hold your hand one last time before I leave, to talk to you. I miss your voice so much, and if I could, I’d ask you what Heaven is like. I’m burning with curiosity to know, but also to hear you explain it in your own words. I’d treasure that.
Love always,
Megs
P.S. – I miss you proofreading my blogs.
