Dear Family
Dear Family,
We are coming up on the one year anniversary of Meme's passing. This past year has been a difficult one for our family. Each of us feeling her significant loss in our own ways. We don't talk about it with each other much--other than the ocassional comment about how much we miss her. We laugh over memories sometimes and smile sadly as the conversation is left to drift away before the pain has a chance to overwhelm us. We keep that part to ourselves. At least, I know I have. I've felt like I couldn't lay this immense weight on anyone else, especially as everyone else that could even understand how precious she was was hurting too. I've held my pain close, swaddled in a cloak of busyness and misleading smiles. I tried to dive into my kids' activities and our pre-planned trips, and visiting friends to cover the truth. I was dying a slow death of my own. Only Ivan really saw ugly it was, how bad I got.
I felt responsibility weighing on me. The responsibility of a mother who needed to keep a brave face of faith for her children. I needed to remind them, through my actions and attitudes, that Meme was a believer and that meant she had simply transitioned into eternal life at the side of Jesus and it was a beautiful thing. Yes, we will miss her and it hurts, but the good-bye isn't forever.
I felt the responsibility of a daughter. My mom was grieving deeply. And even though I didn't know how to or have the strength to reach out to her and love on her the way I know I should have during the weeks and months that followed Meme's passing, I also couldn't bear to add to her burden. I couldn't dare be selfish enough to tell her I felt like I was drowning.
As the eldest sibling, my job is to keep tabs on my younger siblings, to be the Mother Hen of the group. I couldn't unload on them either.
And as one of the outspoken Christians, married to a minister, and a missionary of the family how could I allow the depth of my pain to show? What would that say to everyone? That I had a lack of faith? That I doubted the promise of eternity? That my God wasn't strong enough to comfort me and heal this wound? None of this was true, but I felt I had a responsibility to protect my testimony by not allowing my true emotional state to show.
When it came to friends or church family, I kept everything locked up tight there too. Mainly because I didn't want to hear anyone reminding me that she isn't really gone, but only in Heaven. I didn't want anyone reminding me of the promises of eternity. I knew them full well. I believed them completely. I had zero doubts about my faith in the promises of God. But those reminders from others were not going to make me feel better. They were not going to take away the sting of death from life. They were not going to fill the void that was in my life. The fabric of my existance had been torn and I didn't want anyone poking at it with their sticks. The most comforting thing anyone said to me after Meme passed was a simple, "I know there is nothing I can say to make you feel better. Just know that I love you," followed by a big hug.
I got so good at clamping down on my emotions that I started doing it all of the time. Even with Ivan. I wouldn't talk about it, about her. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't open up. And as I kept myself quietly bleeding out, I eventually started pulling away from God. Whenever I was in His presence, I would feel the healing and comfort He was trying to offer me. I would feel the unconditional love of the Father pouring over my open wound, but I wasn't ready to be healed or whole yet. I felt like I had to stay in that painful place. It was in the pain of my loss that I felt like I could still find my connection to Meme. I couldn't move on from that yet. I had to stay there.
Months of pretending and going through the motions went by. The longer I kept my distance from Jesus, the more I suffered, as well as my family. I wasn't the wife or the mother I should have been. Depression began to swallow me whole. I didn't really care about anything anymore. I kept up pretenses the best I could outside of the house, but I drifted and didn't put the effort into any relationships anymore. I didn't return phone calls or text messages. I didn't want to cook or clean or really look after my family or household anymore. I just quietly drifted into myself and ignored everyone around me, completely lost in my grief.
I was a functioning zombie for months. My ministry suffered. My family suffered. My marriage suffered. My relationships and friendships suffered. I didn't care. Nothing really mattered anymore.
My Jesus is so faithful though. One Sunday I was in church and one of our worship leaders began to exhort the church. He reminded us that we are all a part of the heavenly choir and that one day, when we get to Heaven, we will be worshiping together for eternity just as we were that morning. Well, they were. Because until that moment, I was going through the motions of "church" without actually being a part of anything.
My soul was starving. I had done everything I could to keep myself detached from God for months. But there He was--meeting me in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. As the reminder went forth from the stage, I felt Jesus standing next to me and placing a gentle arm around my shoulders. I was soothed to my innermost in just a moment. The flood of tears I'd been holding back came rushing forth and my Jesus stood there holding me as I cried.
I began to sing my own song to Him, so relieved to be close to Him again. He breathed life into my withering heart. He began to sing over me as well. I leaned into His presence, drinking Him in as a fresh spring in the desert. He reminded me of the same words I had avoided from others for months. Meme was His daughter too. She believed in Him, accepted Him, served Him, and loved Him. She was His always. Because she was with Him, and I was with Him, I was never really without her either. As a member of Heaven she was a part of that heavenly choir, eternally worshiping Him. When I worshipped, I was joining that choir too. I didn't have to stay connected to her through my pain, but through my worship--through Him. We didn't just have the same familial blood in our veins here on earth, we were washed in the Blood of Christ in the spirit and joined forever through Him.
Meme was the very first person to say the Name of Jesus to me. I remember her standing in her dining room telling me about this Son of God who came down from Heaven and died for my sins because He loved me. She gave me my first Bible. She was the first step in the bridge between me and Jesus and now Jesus is the only step between me and my Meme.
As I sang unto the Lord in relief that morning, I did so with the overwhelming joyful knowledge that my grandmother was doing the same thing at the same time. And that she was never further away from me than a song of worship or a whispered prayer to our King.
So, to my family, as we all prepare ourselves to face this painful anniversary and to enter into another year without her in our lives, I encourage you take some time to talk to our Heavenly Father. Talk to Him about Meme. Talk to Him about how you feel. Sing a hymn. She transitioned out of this world singing hymns unto her Savior, so let's honor her memory by doing the same--just as she taught us and demonstrated to the very end.
I love you all. I am praying for all of you and I'm here if anyone needs a little extra love.
Many Blessings,
Desaray
We are coming up on the one year anniversary of Meme's passing. This past year has been a difficult one for our family. Each of us feeling her significant loss in our own ways. We don't talk about it with each other much--other than the ocassional comment about how much we miss her. We laugh over memories sometimes and smile sadly as the conversation is left to drift away before the pain has a chance to overwhelm us. We keep that part to ourselves. At least, I know I have. I've felt like I couldn't lay this immense weight on anyone else, especially as everyone else that could even understand how precious she was was hurting too. I've held my pain close, swaddled in a cloak of busyness and misleading smiles. I tried to dive into my kids' activities and our pre-planned trips, and visiting friends to cover the truth. I was dying a slow death of my own. Only Ivan really saw ugly it was, how bad I got.
I felt responsibility weighing on me. The responsibility of a mother who needed to keep a brave face of faith for her children. I needed to remind them, through my actions and attitudes, that Meme was a believer and that meant she had simply transitioned into eternal life at the side of Jesus and it was a beautiful thing. Yes, we will miss her and it hurts, but the good-bye isn't forever.
I felt the responsibility of a daughter. My mom was grieving deeply. And even though I didn't know how to or have the strength to reach out to her and love on her the way I know I should have during the weeks and months that followed Meme's passing, I also couldn't bear to add to her burden. I couldn't dare be selfish enough to tell her I felt like I was drowning.
As the eldest sibling, my job is to keep tabs on my younger siblings, to be the Mother Hen of the group. I couldn't unload on them either.
And as one of the outspoken Christians, married to a minister, and a missionary of the family how could I allow the depth of my pain to show? What would that say to everyone? That I had a lack of faith? That I doubted the promise of eternity? That my God wasn't strong enough to comfort me and heal this wound? None of this was true, but I felt I had a responsibility to protect my testimony by not allowing my true emotional state to show.
When it came to friends or church family, I kept everything locked up tight there too. Mainly because I didn't want to hear anyone reminding me that she isn't really gone, but only in Heaven. I didn't want anyone reminding me of the promises of eternity. I knew them full well. I believed them completely. I had zero doubts about my faith in the promises of God. But those reminders from others were not going to make me feel better. They were not going to take away the sting of death from life. They were not going to fill the void that was in my life. The fabric of my existance had been torn and I didn't want anyone poking at it with their sticks. The most comforting thing anyone said to me after Meme passed was a simple, "I know there is nothing I can say to make you feel better. Just know that I love you," followed by a big hug.
I got so good at clamping down on my emotions that I started doing it all of the time. Even with Ivan. I wouldn't talk about it, about her. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't open up. And as I kept myself quietly bleeding out, I eventually started pulling away from God. Whenever I was in His presence, I would feel the healing and comfort He was trying to offer me. I would feel the unconditional love of the Father pouring over my open wound, but I wasn't ready to be healed or whole yet. I felt like I had to stay in that painful place. It was in the pain of my loss that I felt like I could still find my connection to Meme. I couldn't move on from that yet. I had to stay there.
Months of pretending and going through the motions went by. The longer I kept my distance from Jesus, the more I suffered, as well as my family. I wasn't the wife or the mother I should have been. Depression began to swallow me whole. I didn't really care about anything anymore. I kept up pretenses the best I could outside of the house, but I drifted and didn't put the effort into any relationships anymore. I didn't return phone calls or text messages. I didn't want to cook or clean or really look after my family or household anymore. I just quietly drifted into myself and ignored everyone around me, completely lost in my grief.
I was a functioning zombie for months. My ministry suffered. My family suffered. My marriage suffered. My relationships and friendships suffered. I didn't care. Nothing really mattered anymore.
My Jesus is so faithful though. One Sunday I was in church and one of our worship leaders began to exhort the church. He reminded us that we are all a part of the heavenly choir and that one day, when we get to Heaven, we will be worshiping together for eternity just as we were that morning. Well, they were. Because until that moment, I was going through the motions of "church" without actually being a part of anything.
My soul was starving. I had done everything I could to keep myself detached from God for months. But there He was--meeting me in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. As the reminder went forth from the stage, I felt Jesus standing next to me and placing a gentle arm around my shoulders. I was soothed to my innermost in just a moment. The flood of tears I'd been holding back came rushing forth and my Jesus stood there holding me as I cried.
I began to sing my own song to Him, so relieved to be close to Him again. He breathed life into my withering heart. He began to sing over me as well. I leaned into His presence, drinking Him in as a fresh spring in the desert. He reminded me of the same words I had avoided from others for months. Meme was His daughter too. She believed in Him, accepted Him, served Him, and loved Him. She was His always. Because she was with Him, and I was with Him, I was never really without her either. As a member of Heaven she was a part of that heavenly choir, eternally worshiping Him. When I worshipped, I was joining that choir too. I didn't have to stay connected to her through my pain, but through my worship--through Him. We didn't just have the same familial blood in our veins here on earth, we were washed in the Blood of Christ in the spirit and joined forever through Him.
Meme was the very first person to say the Name of Jesus to me. I remember her standing in her dining room telling me about this Son of God who came down from Heaven and died for my sins because He loved me. She gave me my first Bible. She was the first step in the bridge between me and Jesus and now Jesus is the only step between me and my Meme.
As I sang unto the Lord in relief that morning, I did so with the overwhelming joyful knowledge that my grandmother was doing the same thing at the same time. And that she was never further away from me than a song of worship or a whispered prayer to our King.
So, to my family, as we all prepare ourselves to face this painful anniversary and to enter into another year without her in our lives, I encourage you take some time to talk to our Heavenly Father. Talk to Him about Meme. Talk to Him about how you feel. Sing a hymn. She transitioned out of this world singing hymns unto her Savior, so let's honor her memory by doing the same--just as she taught us and demonstrated to the very end.
I love you all. I am praying for all of you and I'm here if anyone needs a little extra love.
Many Blessings,
Desaray
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