When Mother's Day Still Hurts: A Gift for Moms in Heaven
For those grieving the loss of a mother, writing out a "Story Gift" might help.
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Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mamas and Grandmas!
But…
Mother’s Day—It’s complicated, right?
Some of us are moms and enjoy the day with family. Or not.
Some have lost mothers, and some moms have lost children, or babies.
Some are foster moms, and some have lost foster kids.
Some have estranged children, and some have only seen this dream of nurturing children come true as they’ve mentored others.
12 Mother’s Days Without Mom
Twelve years ago, my mother stepped into heaven. Yet every Mother’s Day, my heart still reaches for her.
I’ve only posted one other story here about my Mom, about the single yellow rose that bloomed after she died. (You can read that story here: Glimpses of Glory.)
This year, I wanted to give her a gift made of words—a letter carrying remembrance stories, gratitude, grief, and the quiet hope that any love held in Christ is never truly lost.
I wrote what we call in my writing classes a “Story Gift” for her, about her faith and influence in my life.
If you are missing your mother too, I hope these words help you feel less alone.
And for all of you dear readers, I hope to inspire you to write your own mother, mentor, grandma, or “special person” a “Story Gift” to give them.
My Story Gift for Mom
Mom’s funeral was done, the burial completed, and the church’s lunch consumed. Now all that remained was the cleanup and distribution of her funeral flowers.
I stood at the ready near the front tables, handing bouquets to special people in my parents’ circle of friends before they departed.
Suddenly, a hand touched my shoulder.
I turned, facing her. Eye to eye, I didn’t recognize this petite woman with the kind face.
“Jenny, I wanted to tell you something before I leave,” she said. No one called me Jenny anymore; that had been my childhood nickname. I nodded for her to continue.
“I’m Deb, a friend of your mom’s over the last ten years.” Ahh, now I could place her. Deb had been my mom’s best friend from church for the last twenty years. I’d heard the name and knew of their friendship, but we’d never had the opportunity to meet. I waited for her to go on.
“Before your mom got sick with Alzheimer’s… Well, I wanted you to know, she was just so proud of you! I hope you don’t mind, but she shared your story of how you overcame the mental health crisis and depression by coming to faith in Jesus. I just couldn’t leave today without telling you how proud she was of you!”
Tears filled my eyes, an instant lump in my throat. Deb was delivering one last message from my mother beyond the grave, for what felt like a full-circle moment.
“Wow, she told you that story? Mom was my rock during that horrible time,” I admitted. Struggling to gather my thoughts and emotions, I thanked her and got a hug.
Twenty years had passed since that dark period, the past six of which had been grueling years of caregiving for you, Mom.
Mom, you knew my struggles better than most, so when Deb shared your words, what a blessing it gave me! This affirmation, divinely orchestrated on the day of celebration for your life, brought me a sense of completeness.
Mom, Deb’s comment reminded me of everything that transpired for my healing and spiritual renewal. How far I have come over the past thirty years, learning to lean on Jesus—all because you passed along your steadfast faith to us four kids.
I remember “Bible story time!” as you called from our bedroom, attempting to corral three-year-old Jim and five-year-old me from sparring in the hall. I’m betting we smelled of fresh soap and damp hair, straight out of the bathtub. We’d run back to the bedroom, plop down on the bed, one on each side of you.
You held our big white Children’s Bible (the one I still have) and opened the pages to our next story. How well I remember the colored pictures of the animals on the Garden of Eden page, Moses holding the stone tablets, and the shepherd and sheep from the 23rd Psalm (which you insisted we memorize). We always prayed the Lord’s Prayer together before getting tucked into bed.
I think I’d entered middle school when I first discovered your taped index cards on the bathroom mirror. What in the world? I leaned in closer to see.
Hand-drawn stick-figures acted out a Bible verse written alongside in your distinctive print. You were trying to get a point across to one of my three brothers or me, and it worked! Your stick figures cracked me up and always brought a smile. And every few days, these index cards changed overnight. (How I wish I’d saved some of them now!)
As a teenager, I often sought you out with questions late at night. I knew where to find you—sitting up in bed while dad showered, reading your Good News Bible.
“Hey, Mom. Can I ask you a question?” I’d poke my head into your bedroom door.
“Why sure, honey,” you’d graciously answer, removing your reading glasses and closing your Bible. You always made yourself available to me.
In my twenties, when I struggled with depression and a breakdown, you prayed daily and remained accessible, even when I lashed out at you. When I couldn’t handle dealing with my bills, you helped me make the phone calls. Later, we both watched as God provided exactly the amount of disability needed for those three years off work. Amazing.
Mom, your example showed me how to trust and walk with God. And that’s why you were the first one I sought out after I found Jesus:
“Mom, guess what happened last night! I want you to be the first to know-- I asked Jesus to save me, and now it’s like a brand-new day! Colors are so bright! And I even laughed at the radio on the way over!”
You paused your ironing, setting the steaming iron upright to hiss while you listened. I’ll never forget your slow smile as you realized what I was telling you. Could it be that my “long dark night of the soul” was over? You could only continue to pray and hope, but that was the turning point, a wonderful new day for both of us.
You became my best friend after that! As I began to raise my own children in the faith, your example spurred me onward.
How devastating when we realized your senior moments signaled Alzheimer’s at the “young” age of 65. The next six years were brutal for Dad and me, your caregivers. I tried to help as much as I could while tending to both Grandma and my own family. How I cried with anticipatory grief on my drives home during those last challenging years.
Mom, I miss you. I can’t thank you enough for your love and faithfulness to me, and the prayers that sent Jesus to deliver me out of my pit. I love that you’re at peace now in heaven and that I will see you again someday soon.
Until then, I’m sending you 💕.
Jenny
For Worship:
What gets us through the hard days when we miss those we’ve lost? Why, our faith, of course. And great music!
As a writer, I like Brandon Lake’s new song (featuring Nick Jonas): “The Author”!
. . . “Who am I to question the pen in the hands of The Author?”
. . . “I’m ink in the pen of the hands of The Author.”
*Photo by Zoe Richardson on Unsplash
Thank you so much Jen! I just said goodbye to my mom a few weeks ago and I celebrate that she is in heaven but I felt like there was so much more to say.
Wow Jen! I really wasn’t ready for how deep this hit. There is so much I could relate to. Your article really encouraged me to write my own story gift to those I have lost. Thanks for sharing this healing tool!