A little over a month ago, I posted about the first anniversary of Mom’s death, and the eruption of emotions I found myself experiencing. I’m on the other side of that first now, and I’m relieved to say that 1)it is done, and 2)I saw God’s goodness and generosity in so many ways.
I will say: I don’t know that there’s a “right way” to handle the first or any anniversary of a loved one’s death. It’s all about what doing what is right for you.
If laying in bed sobbing all day feels right for you… do it.
If releasing balloons in the loved one’s favorite color feels right… go for it.
I have a friend whose family enjoys mint chocolate chip ice cream each anniversary because it was their dad’s/grandpa’s favorite. I adore that, and not just because I adore mint chocolate chip ice cream!
So… you may have a ritual. You may do life as usual. You may change your mind every year. That’s okay, I think.
For me, I needed a combination of things. I didn’t want life to stop down completely. But I did want to make moments… but not… productions. My thinking was guided, of course, by the loved one I was missing. My mom wasn’t overly sentimental and would have about gagged at the balloon thing. Yet I think she might haunt me somehow if I didn’t make some kind of deal of things. 😀
So, I made a decision to do something I know Mom loved when her kids were around my kids’ ages: I asked my best friends to have breakfast with me on Friday morning. (Mom died on Friday, August 24, 2018; so we did breakfast on Friday the 23… a minor technicality, but close enough.) Back in the late 1980s/early 1990s, Mom and her friends would go to a MWF aerobics class, and on some Fridays, afterwards, they would go eat breakfast.
If you’re wondering: God, no, I didn’t precede breakfast with aerobics class. HA!
But a small group of friends and I ate breakfast, and laughed about life, and gabbed about our kids and husbands… it was perfect. A balm for my heart.
My little family and I were able to spend some time with my dad on the anniversary, but we didn’t make any big demonstration or discussion about what the day meant. Perhaps that might seem callous… absolutely not the case. 365 days still feels like a blip on the radar, so to speak. Being together felt right; saying too much might have been too painful.
What held me together during this difficult time was, without question, the small kindnesses of friends. These beauties arrived a couple of days before the one-year mark from a friend who is also a member of what I’ve coined as the world’s shittiest sorority: girls who have lost their moms.
With these gorgeous flowers came the best-ever note.
The flowers stayed on my kitchen table, a visible tribute to the love and kindness that have propped me up this past year.
Another gift came from a new friend – new since Mom’s death. Her son and my daughter were in the same class last year, and in that time, I lost Mom, and she lost her sister. Over time – and, let’s face it, because I am nothing if not weirdly candid and politely persistent about forming relationships with people – we began to discuss our losses and open up about how difficult it is to grieve when life demands you not stop going a million miles an hour. She presented me with this beautiful blanket.
The note: “There are never the right words… this is just one big hug!”
But what that card doesn’t say: this beautiful blanket was one of several her sweet sister had purchased just before she passed. And my friend gave it to me. My heart overflows. The embrace this beautiful, soft blanket will give me will be one I only associate with God’s gift of friendship, especially the friendship that appears in seasons of loss when we need it the most.
Here’s the thing: grief is terrible. Loss is unbearable.
And yet… Jesus tells us, “blessed are THOSE” -PLURAL- “who mourn.” And while I can’t presume to know exactly what He means, I don’t think it’s that we are blessed if we mourn in solitude. I think He instructs us to mourn communally, to lean on those nearby, the angels disguised as the mortals we with whom we share our lives. When we do that, our suffering be maybe the slightest bit more gentle, because we aren’t carrying it all by ourselves.
That was certainly true for me as I entered day 366 of life without Mom.
Her absence breaks my heart regularly. I will never have another Mom.
Yet I am not alone.
I’m accompanied by the rest of my family who loves and misses her.
And I’ve got more than a little help from my friends.
As I have written this post, this verse has come to my mind:
Ever the pun-enthusiast, I looked at this with a new set of eyes today.
“Joy comes with the mourning.”
It’s paradoxical, sure. But leaning into my sadness and being vulnerable enough to connect with others, has been one of the greatest gifts I’ve experienced.
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
And He does it again and again. He gives and He gives and He gives.
Fittingly, He gave this towards the end of the day on August 24, 2019.
A testament to His promises.
To sum it up: whatever or whomever it is you’re grieving, my wish for you is that you find comfort in the company you keep. If your tribe is half as great as mine, you’ll find joy in your mourning, too.
I find some irony or maybe just simple coincidence that you posted this on the 22nd anniversary of your mom losing her parent. I really wish I could say to her, like I did 20 years in a row, “It’s October 4th – I still miss him and death still sucks.”
Well, now I feel like an ass because I didn’t realize that. God’s hand, I suppose. It’s like Chris said during the eulogy: she (and you, Granny, and P&J) modeled how to grieve the loss of a parent for us. Love you.