Calm In The Storm

May 15 marks the day my mother left this world and entered into heaven. (It still feels strange—a bit heavy, even—to say the words "she died.")

Every year, this season stirs up a flood of emotions. Her birthday is on April 24th, and 19 days later, we celebrate Mother's Day. Just 2 days after that, she's no longer with us. It's a whirlwind of feelings in such a brief period. My heart oscillates between celebration, gratitude, and a deep longing for my mom.

I've come to learn this is a special and sacred space where love and loss meet, and where peace and pain seem to coexist.

This year, as I moved through these sensitive and tender days, I noticed I was able to quickly grab hold of that same peace rather swiftly. If I had to describe it, it was kind of like a calm after a long, emotional storm. The kind of calm that doesn't necessarily erase the yearning for mom, but maybe similar to a relaxing and supportive back rub from God, letting me know it's okay to breathe again, and that healing doesn't mean forgetting; if I'm honest, that's been a really huge concern of mine.

Grief has a strange way of reshaping us. This can be especially true in the earlier stages of our grief. It crashes like waves, unexpected and relentless. But over time, with much prayer, reflection, and the support of those who really care, those waves begin to soften.

I truly believe that God, in His mercy and infinite wisdom, gives us the strength to carry on—even when we feel we can't take another step. He even gave us His Son, Jesus, as the example of the ultimate sacrifice, who grieved and even wept in the scriptures over the loss of someone He loved ( huge difference from simply saying "Jesus cried").

On this journey, I'm trying my very best to lean more into the memories that bring comfort: like my mom's laugh, her warmth, her tenacity and strength, even the fussing she would do if we weren't helping enough with kitchen duty during the holiday meals (haha!). I miss it all, and allowing myself to feel that is a part of love.

I'm quite sure you've heard this a million times, but it bears repeating: grief has no timeline or expiration, no rulebook with magical instructions. (I use the word magical loosely.) But at the center of it all, there is peace and tranquility because the Prince of Peace is with us, reminding us we are NEVER alone.

So today, as I write from this place of serenity, will my heart ache at times? Sure, it may, but it is also grateful. Grateful for the years we had, for the love, lessons, and legacy that will live on in me and my family; her family; and for the calm in and after the storm that only God can provide when we need it the most!

Keep in mind, if no one has mentioned, "I love you" to you today, remember God does, and so do I.