The Hole She Left Behind
Milestones are when I miss her most.
Birthdays. Weddings. Christmas.
I soar through the planning, buoyed on excitement and expectation, but when it’s all over, there is always a hole. A sore spot, rubbed raw through the fun, and friends, and festivities. The place she should have held at the table, or by my side, gapes in the aftermath.
My mom-shaped hole. A place that will never heal, never close over. It will always be there, and she will always be missing, and there is simply no way around it.
Losing someone isn’t something you ever “get over.” We move forward, yes. We breathe again, and put one foot in front of the other, but it’s never really over. Not really. It’s always there, even if we forget for a while.
My gracious God has always supplied me with the resources she would have provided – friends to offer that mother-love, and counsel, and comfort. But I think even He knows that nothing can ever quite fill the void. It is inhuman to expect us to forget. It is divine to be able to move on in spite of the memory.
In the early days and years after her death, I didn’t fully understand. I chalked it up to coming down off the anticipatory high, coming down from the mountain of excitement.
Now I know that what aches is the spot she would have held and I have learned to expect the pain, the regret, that is always and forever married to every milestone of my life.
It’s just the way it is, and I’m not sure I would want it to be any different.