He is Risen Indeed!

We played this song at my mom's memorial, and I listen to it often.  I find the power of Christ's resurrection means so much more than before--he has conquered death, not only for himself, but for all--for my beloved mom, for me, for you.  Happy Easter!  Rejoice!

CHRIST IS RISEN FROM THE DEAD 

by Matt Maher

Let no one caught in sin remain*

Inside the lie of inward shame

We fix our eyes upon the cross

And run to him who showed great love

And bled for us

Freely you bled, for us

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave!

Christ is risen from the dead

We are one with him again

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave!

Beneath the weight of all our sin

You bow to none but heavens will

No scheme of hell, no scoffer's crown

No burden great can hold you down

In strength you reign

Forever let your church proclaim

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Christ is risen from the dead

We are one with him again

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Oh death! Where is your sting?

Oh hell! Where is your victory?

Oh Church! Come stand in the light!

The glory of God has defeated the night!

Oh death! Where is your sting?

Oh hell! Where is your victory?

Oh Church! Come stand in the light!

Our God is not dead, he's alive! he's alive!

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Christ is risen from the dead

We are one with him again

Come awake, come awake!

Come and rise up from the grave

Rise up from the grave...

Ramblings on my Mom's birthday

Today would have been my mom's 63rd birthday--I loved her birthday as a child because it meant only ten more days until Christmas!  I don't think mom necessarily loved having a birthday so close to Christmas, although it did lead to her name, Joy. Today in church we lit the candle of joy for advent--I misted up quite a bit--it felt like a birthday candle, and a reminder of her deep belief.

A friend passed along this picture from my parents' wedding invitations--I love how young and gorgeous mom looks.

I have a little tree filled with ornaments mom made--this time of year feels very filled with her presence.  Decorations, recipes, and dates are intimately connected with her.  I think this will always be true, but hopefully the bitter will continue to leach out, leaving only the sweet.

I have been sewing lots of gifts on my mom's Bernina (sewing machine) this month--she was so amazing at sewing, and I am improving.  I miss having her help, and admonition for my corner cutting.  It is lovely to sew on her machine, though, to have a connection to something she touched and created with.

I have seen almost every sunrise this year--sometimes I wake up and watch them and then go back to bed--and every one is a burst of hope and renewed joy.  I love you, mom--thank you for the joy of Christmas and life that you nourished in me.

One Year

"Several times that day, the name or thought of Papa had come up.  And each time, Francie had felt a flash of tenderness instead of the old stab of pain.  'Am I forgetting him?' she thought. 'In time to come will it be hard to remember anything about him?  I guess it's like Gramma Mary Rommely says:  "With time, passes all." The first year was hard because we could say last 'lection he voted.  Last Thanksgiving he ate with us.  But next year it will be two years ago that he . . . and as time passes it will be harder and harder to remember and keep track.'"

~A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith*

It is easier almost a year later.  I can talk about my mom--to some people, in some ways--and I can hear my son reference Grammie Joy without crying.  Some days pass when I don't miss her.  Some days it's the only thing I really do.  I can talk about things she did, or liked, or memories I made with her, but I can't talk about how I miss her--what 4 o'clock in the afternoon is like when I can't call her on the phone--what it is like to have a segment of my soul locked up and unable to be expressed to anyone, because it was a part I shared only with my mom.

I think maybe soon only tenderness will remain-- with fewer stabs.  I know that this is only a brief interlude before I see her again--my hope and faith remain.  I know that soon I will be able to meet new people--or respond to a how are you--without pushing back my initial thought of "My mom is dead."  I know my first mental image of her will dissolve back into a beautiful and lively one, and not the last one.  I have faith, but this is still a hard road.  Just like parenting, the days are long, but the years are short.

*soon after mom died, this book was cheap on my nook, and a part of my brain dinged:  mom had liked this book.  I bought it, and as I read, I became convinced she had-- the protagonist loved libraries, just like my mom--she even had the same birthday--and then when her adored father died, it felt like reading the book was a gift from my mom--to have hope--to process--to imagine her reading it as a young girl.

8 Months

Missing my mom is like having a good-sized hole in the floor. I can see it--I know how to avoid it--but I am still getting stuck in it pretty regularly.

Most days, I am doing better. I am confident mom is healed and rejoicing in heaven. I can remember her and honor her here on earth. I can stop at the hole and look at it, and remember, and move on with my day. I can visit joyfully with my family, read Lincoln books his Grammie gave him, and happily bake her recipes.

There are still many days, though, when I get stuck in the hole. I am filled all day with a sluggish sadness, an inability to move with any freedom or joy, a despair over missing my mom, a deep jealousy for anyone I interact with who has a mom, for any child I see with a grandmother. These days are hard--I am aware of how to get out of the hole, but every tear and interaction keeps me stuck.

I think the hole will always be there--I am hoping I will get better at walking around it and hoisting myself out, but the hole will be there--maybe getting smaller.

A New Generation

My mom was a fabulous baker, and I see baking as a heritage and connection to her. We decided to keep the joy of cooking alive in a new generation--chef Lincoln has his own kitchen now!

Seven Months

I've been thinking about mom, grief, moms in general, and I thought I would share a few thoughts.
It feels so hard to lose a mom--I have felt disconnected from others--from life, and after I thought about it some, I realized that it centers on who moms typically are. Moms hold all our memories, from the very beginning--they know us from in utero to our first cries and hunger. A mom holds all of that--ponders it and keeps it in her heart, just as Mary the mother of Jesus did.
And I lost that. I lost that repository of memory and hope and love. Lost the person who would see and understand the similarities between my child self and my son.
And when that pondering heart ceases beating, it feels like a severed connection--a loss of anyone on earth who has truly known and loved me.
Of course, there are many who love me, but losing a mom is a connection lost with time, with the world. Now all the burden of memory is on me--not just to remember my own life but hers.
A heavy post, I know, but thoughts I had and wanted to share, and express. Saying the thing names it, makes it real, and releases the weight.
My dad played a classic toasting song called, "The Parting Glass,"* and the last lines have helped me cry and understand and hope:
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call
Good night and joy be with you all

The last non-comfort/health/pain thing my mom said to my sister and I was this: " You know how much I love you girls." We knew. We know. We will remember. And Joy will be with us all always.


*I recommend The Wailin' Jennies version.

Christmas Countdown: Day 18

Today our calendar suggested we share Christmas memories. I got out some cookies, made some cocoa, and we made a great new memory.

Christmas Countdown: Days 14, 15, 16, 17

Whoops. Life happened. Honored mom. Bathed boys. Said good-bye to a faithful horse. Finished wrapping gifts. Back to Christmas fun tomorrow.

Christmas Countdown: Day 2

Our Snoopy calendar's idea for today was to watch a Christmas video, but who wants to see pictures of that? We also pulled out mom's special Christmas cookbook (all of her favorite Christmas recipes, handwritten and decorated) and made hot cocoa and spice tea mix. Yum!

Christmas Countdown: Day One

In honor of my mom, a huge Peanuts/Snoopy fan, I found a Peanuts Christmas Countdown calendar. Today, we were making paper snowflakes. (Each day has a craft/activity.). Lincoln was loving the chance to use scissors, but mostly cut his paper into oblivion.

Crafty Memories

My mom made tons of fabric crafts. She used to make them for Christmas houses--the precluders of craft fairs. She made a lot for me--as we got out our Christmas decorations, we realized that we could decorate a whole little tree just with her homemade ornaments. Here is a sampling of just the angels she had made!