December 28, 2012

A letter for mom


You missed my first great love and you weren't there when he died and I thought I might too.

You missed my nineteenth birthday and my twenty-sixth and my thirty-first and all of those in between.

You weren't there when my shady boyfriend stole all of my money and left me owing thousands.

You missed seeing me off to my amazing trip to Israel.

You weren't here when I bleached my hair blonde and did a million wretched things because I was hurting so badly and was so very angry at God.

You weren't here to watch me meet Todd and fall in love with a man I never expected to fall in love with.  You missed the night we got engaged and celebrated downtown, my five-stone diamond ring sparkling as bright as our eyes did.

You missed my bridal showers and my wedding day and seeing me in a wedding dress that I didn't really like. 

You haven't been here to talk to about marriage and what your experience was like.  You've missed watching me struggle and flourish in my own.

You weren't here when I was told I had PCOS and that it would be a "miracle" if I ever got pregnant.  You missed it when I would cry every month my period would arrive and my hopes for having a baby would be crushed.

You missed it when that hundredth pregnancy test finally came back positive and I got to announce that finally, at last, I was going to be a mommy.  You weren't here to get to be a Grandma.

You missed my first pregnancy and now my second.  You haven't been here to ask questions and put me at ease when I want to panic about every strange thing my body is doing.

You haven't been here to see the FREE me. 

You weren't here to see me dance my ass off for the very first time.  I danced and danced for hours and it was glorious.  And now I dance any chance I can get.

You've missed seeing how God would bring healing to my heart.  How He would give me peace and restore relationships and make things new.

You've missed countless family gatherings and trips to the zoo and watching me freak out about finding my first few gray hairs. 

You haven't been here for twelve Mother's Days and thirteen Christmases. 

Perhaps you can see and you have seen everything from Heaven.  I like to think that you can look down and have a view in to my life - or that you have some way of knowing.  It brings my hurting heart comfort to think about what your face would be like for me when I struggle or I'm sad or when I'm experiencing victory or feeling joy.   The deepest parts of me know that for all I've done and been through that you are so very proud.  And you should be proud too - because you had a hand in shaping me.

But you haven't been here.  You've missed out and so have I.  You've missed watching me grow into the woman I am today.  There will forever be a void - a hole that you left and no one else can fill.  What is true is that I was deeply impacted by your life and your story and all that you were and weren't to me - I still am.  You may be gone and you may have been gone for thirteen years, but your memory and the place that I hold it in my heart is still very much with me. And I hope that it always is.

Missing you this day.  I ache for Heaven and the moment I finally see you again.  When there will be no more missing out and no more missing you.



  1. Stunning. Aching. Beautiful. Joy and Pain are such sisters and I think often they pop up at the same times. Love you Jenn.