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Grief, You Stink!
rebecca@rebeccafussell.com
You never know when it will hit you.
Grief is like that.
Sneaks up on you in the middle of a sunny day, walking down the baking aisle in grocery store or in the smell of a loved one’s perfume. Catches you off guard and sends you head first into the sadness.
Today it was the JEA bill.
I opened it quick in hopes maybe we’d saved money this month. What I found instead was, “This is the last statement for Jaquita Anderstrom. $00.00 owed.”
Period.
Normally, I’d be excited to pay nothing. But the finality of those zeros meant . . . well, you know.
My heart writhed. Puddles formed in my eyes. Drips of water ran down my squished-up face.
Most days I’m fine. Really. But then there are moments like this, and I still can’t believe she’s not here. She left this earth almost a year ago. On her birthday. . . This year she would have been eighty years old.
So now what? I cried for a bit and that’s okay. Tears are healing and healthy. Cleansing even. Like a car wash for our souls. We don’t need to stuff them, ignore the pain and pretend it doesn’t hurt.
Yes, some “car washes” take more time than others, and that’s okay too. But eventually, in the midst of grief, we all need to stop thinking about what we lack and refocus on what is right and good in our lives.
As the tears dried, my grief reminded me of a few things and my heart is grateful.
I know God and so did she.
It literally changes everything. Sometimes when someone dies people say, “We lost her.” I know what the expression means, but in the truest sense of the word I haven’t lost my mom. I know exactly where she is, and I couldn’t be more at peace about it. The Bible promises for those who’ve acknowledged they're sinners, believed that Jesus paid for their sin when He died on the cross and invited Him into their hearts as their Savior, they have eternal life! The Bible also says to be absent from the body is to present with the Lord.
So as you’re reading this, my mother is hoop-hollering it up with the Lord. There is no greater comfort than that.
We were at peace with each other.
I could never thank God enough for that. My mom and I were close. Sometimes too close. We had our moments of turmoil, as I’m guessing many mothers and daughters have had. But with much prayer and pride-swallowing our relationship always mended.
The night before she died, God afforded me a couple of hours with her, shooting the breeze about everything and nothing all at the same time. Just small talk. It wasn’t the subject that was important. Just being present with each other was the goal.
When I left that night, she knew I loved her. She knew I cared. And I knew the same of her. That helps me sleep at night.
Both of my parents died unexpectedly. When I said good-bye to them, I had no idea it was for the last time. Yes, I’ll take that as a mercy of God.
It reminds me to embrace each moment with those around me. And I pray I’ve learned to keep short accounts with people.
Hopefully, you can learn from my grief experience. Don’t hold that grudge just for the fun of it. Yes, I said fun. Maybe enjoyment is a better word. Isn’t it true it feels kind of good to nurse a grudge now and then, make the other guy suffer by giving them an emotional stiff arm?
But life is too short. You never know when it will be your last good-bye. Hold on too long and the bad joke will be on you. Someone’s funeral flowers are in bloom right now. And besides, people aren’t the enemy anyway.
So Grief, you stink.
But I must admit, sometimes you’re good and I’m thankful for all the life-giving reminders you give. May I learn from you and treat each day as a gift.
I walk. They ride. Bicycles that is.
Her name was Beatrix—Bea for short.
I can laugh about it now—quite hysterically in fact. I should’ve known, but I didn’t.
Happy New Year ~ almost! You know what that means…
Do you know what today is?
Years ago, Ronnie, Chandler and I piled into the car ready for a fun weekend away.
Life was hard. Money was short. And sleep was shorter still.
Mother or not, this post is for you.
I didn’t really have time. But this time, it didn’t matter.
The rubber tourniquet squeezed my bicep preparing my vein for the prick.