If you scroll through my cell phone contacts, eventually you’ll come to an entry simply titled “Mom—home.” The one just above it is noted as “Mom—cell.” They’re complete with my mom’s profile picture and home address.
I’ve happily used these numbers over the years to chat it up for countless hours with my mom about all our life happenings since we talked last, which was normally just a week before that call.
The sad and very unfortunate part about these listings now is that they no longer reach my mother. The reason is, Mom died in October of 2017.
So today, as much as I’d like to—I cannot simply touch the illumined phone number under her name and expect to hear her soft voice on the other end saying, “Well, hi!” as I heard so many times before.
Isn’t it odd the way grief works?
In my thoughts, I know for certain that Mom died. I was at her side, holding her hand when she drew her last breath. I watched, along with my younger sister, as the hospice attendants prepared Mom’s body and took her away. I attended her funeral and watched as her casket was lowered into the ground.
Still—I can’t bring myself to delete Mom’s contact information from my phone! I don’t want to think about the fact that she’s really gone from our life together on Earth.
Another quirky “grieving thing” comes up for me every December—not just during Christmastime, but in the week leading up to my birthday. Why then? Well, since becoming a young adult, I lived a good distance from my parents. So, Mom would always send my birthday card in the mail quite early to assure I received it in time for my special day.
But even now—three years after her death—I continue anticipating a birthday card from Mom in the days leading up to December 11th—my big day.
Of course, nothing is in the mailbox from Mom other than sweet memories of special days gone by.
Learning to adjust
I know the sting of loss is one in which we must all learn to cope. Each person must handle the effects of sorrow in their own way.
And as a Christian, I believe that when “the end” comes for loved ones, it’s really anything but that. For individuals, like my mom, who had placed their faith in Jesus Christ, the Bible tells us their souls are immediately present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8).
Also, for those of us who are mourning someone’s passing, memories are ever-present as well. This is certainly true when it comes to reminders I have about my mother.
So, although it’s more difficult some days than others, I’ve tried to turn my feelings of loss into a celebration of what remains—the good memories we shared together. Granted, this approach is not easily done at the beginning of one’s journey through grief, but after some time has passed.
Methods of celebration
I’ve heard that some people celebrate and remember their loved ones by planting a tree in their memory. Others may get a special piece of jewelry, such as a charm or watch, with an embedded image or engraving that reminds them of their friend or family member. The method is as varied as the memories we have of special times together.
One thing I’ve started doing for Mother’s Day weekend—in memory of my mom—is to make a coconut cake, since that was one of her favorites. It reminds me of the year I made Mom a three-layered version, loading it with as much coconut as I could possibly stick to the outer frosting. I’m so glad she loved it!
Processing takes time
Of course, I understand that enjoying a slice of delicious cake on a certain weekend each May won’t bring my precious mom back to life. Actually, it pulls to the surface even more memories of times we had together in the past—some happy and some sad. It also generates the realization that Mom isn’t here anymore and won’t be with us to celebrate special events in the future such as graduations, weddings, or grandkids.
But for me, dealing with loss comes with what remains in the day-by-day. And understanding that whether it’s a contact entry in my phone that stays there for many more years, or a special dessert covered in sweet coconut flakes—it’s where I’m at in my grief process, dealing with it as well as possible, and that’s ok.