Your birthday is tomorrow and I have a few things I guess I have to get out of me.
I want you to know that I know you didn’t know how to love me.
And yea, you broke my heart, but you were broken too. I know. But that sweet redemption came in all its miraculous glory. Thanking God for that.
I put your ashes in the ground last weekend and covered them in lavender under the forked tree with the cross carved into it.
Your ashes, your body, your bones, buried on a mountain. But not you. You are with Him because you never let go.
He saw right into your heart and He loved you, and you loved Him and it was such a weird thing, how you loved.
You were so complicated.
So like a two-year-old, stubborn. But oh how you would laugh, loud and unedited. You sure could let it rip.
I had to grieve you twice you know. The first time was when I had to acknowledge that I would never have a mom, not really. Not the kind of mom that nurtured. I released you from my expectation. I forgave you and do still. The second time only three months ago, and the grieving is still present. I miss you, you know.
I just wanted a mom to love me but you couldn’t. I mean, you did, I know you did. But you didn’t know how to show me. You were so broken, and I’m so sorry for all the pain you held up under. I would have broke too.
And I did, but not so bad. I was okay.
Your world was undone horrifically. Things I can’t write about, but I know about. And your mother heart was bursting, I know, in a million pieces until it was just too much and you gave in to the thing that numbed you, that made you okay. I understand. I don’t blame you now.
I read your journals.
I know how lonely you were.
How unloved you felt.
How defeated you were.
How you just wanted to not be a burden to anyone. So you hid your pain and your loneliness. God, I wish I would have known.
I wish I could have really known. I wish I saw you the way He saw you.
I’m so sorry.
But now Mom, because of you, I want to love everyone because we are all so broken and so hidden, aren’t we? Covered under pain that no one else sees.
We are all complicated in places and wounded, and we hurt because we hurt, and we love when we are loved, and I will love.
Because I know His love and how encompassing it is.
And you did, eventually.
You showed me at the end. He did that, I know.
Goodbye my beautiful, complicated, stubborn, free, mom. I know you are shining now.
And you are healed.
And you are basking in the love you always wanted and needed. How good our Father is.
I wish I could call you up. But I’ll see you again one day.
I love you.