Hi. I’m Lisa.
In my four-plus decades on this planet, I have played or am currently playing a variety of roles: daughter, student, friend, Christian, teacher, wife, mother.
Of course, none of us can be reduced to a mere title or job description. I’m a hodgepodge of these things still, though “Mom” is the name I’m called most, which means that despite any major ambitions I may have, reality requires immense and near-ceaseless amounts of laundry, food preparation, and transporting humans to and from school and activities. Fergie’s “Glamorous” is NOT the soundtrack of my life.
But eight months ago, my mom died, and though I never really thought to add a new “job title” to my list, I became a griever. A mourner.
And you are, too.
Maybe you haven’t lost someone you love. I sure hope not – it’s the worst. But my mom’s death has been a catalyst for realizing that grief is a pretty important part of life – one we neglect, maybe even deprive, ourselves of experiencing.
What am I grieving?
- Death: my mom lost her valiant, three-year fight to ovarian cancer on August 24, 2018. I believe with my entire heart that she is whole, restored, and with Jesus, and in that, I take incredible comfort. But she’s the only mom I ever had, or ever will have, and I miss her terribly. I have two children to raise, and I could use her wisdom, and my kids sure do miss their Honey. Every day with them, I feel like I understand the tough and lonely road of motherhood a little more, and I grieve that I can’t vent to her about it and thank her for what I now know is the best and most difficult job in the world. And every time I marvel in my kids’ beauty, joy, growth, love… any of it, there’s at least a tinge of despair that she’s not with me to see it.
- Disability: my son has autism. To be clear, I do not grieve that I had him. My God – he is a beautiful boy, as pure of a soul as you will encounter. He makes our lives better, our family complete. Because of him, I get to see some of God’s angels disguised as ordinary people- teachers, therapists, helpers guiding him to his potential every day. But hell if that damn disability doesn’t put walls within his mind, and thus, in between him and the people who love him so much. Autism (and, in our case, it’s turd sandwich of a co-pilot, tic disorder) breaks my heart on a regular basis, even as it teaches me and refines me daily.
- Disappointment: so I think that while most of us admit we have so much for which to be thankful, this life isn’t remotely going the way we had hoped. And that’s true for me for sure. I had no plans of being a stay-at-home mother at 40+, but here I am… killing it? Getting killed by it? It’s not my jam, yet it’s where I feel I’m supposed to be. And don’t get me wrong – I married the love of my life and have two miraculous kiddos. I’m stupid blessed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t spend time wondering where I might be professionally, wondering what might have been, and wishing things were different.
So I’ll be clear: I’m just a layperson trying to figure out how to grieve and grieve well. I have no formal training on any of this. I concede that I am also extraordinarily new to grief. I’m a “mere” eight months in; I don’t even know all that I don’t know. I envision revisiting these words months and years from now thinking, “Oh girl, you adorable, naive fool.”
BUT… I know Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4)
I don’t remotely think that grieving is comfortable. BUT I think it’s a gift to grieve together, and I think it’s okay for that to be messy, funny, and snotty. I say snot because I am not one who gently weeps. No single, beautiful tears here. Just keeping it real.
So let’s hash this ish out. What are we grieving? How are we getting through it? (Hint: not by ourselves.) Let’s sit around an imaginary order of nachos and figure this out, together.
You can even have all the jalapeños… not only because I’m generous, but also because they hurt my tum-tum.