I don’t know where to start. I’ve become a different person since my last post. My mom has gone onto eternity and left those who love her so fiercely on this earth. This experience of grief has been nightmarish, grounding, joyful, gut-twisting, faith-affirming, existential, and productive. I’m sure there are 20 other emotions I missed.
The main trait I’ve felt emerge from spending final weeks with my ailing mom and days with my family after her passing is empathy. I hate to admit this, but I’m not sure I ever had much before. Sure, I could sympathize and be momentarily compassionate, but I couldn’t possibly attempt to jump into someone else’s struggle.
My excuse for years was self-preservation. Why would I — a blessed existence gal — step out of my dream land to attempt to feel someone else’s anguish? I didn’t know how. But I’ve been there now.
When I said goodbye to my mom, I exited her room and doubled over in pain. I’ve never felt an emotional gut-socking like that. But I know many of you have. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there before, but I can now. I’m so sorry for your losses. It’s still very hard for me to stomach the reality of my mom’s absence.
But I am tremendously comforted by a few things. 1. the blessed assurance that she is in heaven. 2. the depth of sorrow I feel is due to a ridiculous depth of love my mom conveyed every day…how fortunate am I to have had such a mother? 3. this isn’t it.
I guess we don’t dwell on a life beyond this one much. We don’t long for it. We’re reminded perpetually to stay in the present. Enjoy life to its fullest. But there’s one inevitable truth…this life will end. And either that’s it or it’s not. Either we had our day in the flesh and it’s eternally over or we had our day in the flesh and our soul lives on.
I long to see my mom again. I long to ask God so many questions. I long to feel a cozy, secure, forever sense of contentment. I long to be consistent– to always know my purpose, to never question my existence. I long to not focus on things of temporal satisfaction: body image, accolades, parenting “rightness”, sounding wise, attempting to wrap my mind around this strange creature called grief. I long for something more than any relative, friend or natural wonder can provide.
C.S. Lewis says is concisely: “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”
More than ever, I feel this. Like an alien on Earth. Like a transient, passing through. I know isolation is part of grief. And there is a depressed piece of me that feels this life lacks significance, but I know that’s not true. This life is important, now and in the forevermore. The way we treat people, love people, serve people, raise people. It’s not the what we do but the way we do that matters right now.
My mom’s passing wasn’t as sudden as some but I now know every death is sudden. I don’t care how mentally “prepared” you think you are. The reality that someone can be here one minute and vacate their body the next is hard to grasp…until you see it, and are forced to accept it.
Mom lived in between worlds in her final two weeks. She told me one day she had been talking to her mom (deceased since 2003) all morning. She knew it was strange, but she said it with a smile. She didn’t cry as countless people sobbed into her shoulder. She was cloaked in peace. I hadn’t seen it before in her. She knew she was bound for true rest and contentment.
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Revelations 21:4
The old order of things — cancer, Parkinson’s, asthma, thyroid replacement drugs, a building list of ailments for my precious mom — have passed away. Her body was giving out but her soul never did.
One of the things I’ve clung to is my mom’s constancy in her last seven years with Parkinson’s and two years with cancer. She remained the same gentle, loving, empathetic, humble spirit she’d always been. Her encouragement, through a back rub or a text message, was always right on time. She was a rare woman who dared to dive into your struggle with you. She never guarded herself from feeling deeply for others. She bore many crosses that were not her own. She walked heavy laden alongside you or skipped lightly with you through your most joyful days. She amplified it all. She amplified you. Because as mentioned in my last post, she firmly believed you’re all important.
Perhaps it was because she remained her wonderful self to the end that it felt sudden. My brother and sister in-law had a baby in late January. Between a hospital visit that drew mom close to death and her actual passing in mid-February, she sent that baby boy a gift. Her selflessness was astounding.
As I attempt to climb my way out of an often deep hole filled with the paralyzing quicksand of self-pity, I think about how my mom handled her trials. She kept on. She did “the next thing”. Most often, she did the next thing for someone else.
The wonderful Elisabeth Elliot popularized this poem which makes life feel more manageable when navigating the turbulent waters of grief and the shock of life without my remarkable mom:
From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring Like a low inspiration: “DO THE NEXT THING.”
Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King, Trust them with Jesus, do the next thing
Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all results, do the next thing.
Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm, The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, do the next thing.
No one can say one grief outweighs another. I’ve never felt your loss. You’ve not felt mine. I do believe more than ever my mom left this world wrapped in peace and destined for glory. And while that enormous truth can offer me moments of complete peace and joy, there are still plenty of moments when I feel orphaned; motherless and hollow.
And in those moments, there is nothing to do but the next thing. Mom wouldn’t want us to mope about for long. She and my heroic dad have never been whiners. As dad recollected some of my mom’s final words of gratitude to him — “Honey, we’ve had 47 wonderful years”. As if to say, how dare we ask for more from this life! But we humans always ask for more, don’t we?
I had 31 years with my mom, and though that sounds brief in our years, it will be but a breath in eternity. Until we meet again, mama– I will do the next thing, and thank God for the model of gracious endurance He gave us in you.
Comments
Love you sweet Annie.Bird! We will never cease to miss her, in this life, But, like you, we exult in her presence with our Lord and long to worship alongside. You wrenched my heart with your words, but hopefully, you can imagine my long arms wrapping you up in a giant embrace (my arms are actually very short! Kind of like a T-Rex). Know that you are never far from our prayers and always a phone call away, should you find yourself needing a hug! 😘😘. Aunt Linda
Author
Thanks, Aunt Linda! I feel lots of love from my nurturing aunties here. Love you lots. I’ll take al the t-rex hugs..and congrats on that newest grandbeauty!
Thank you
Such a beautiful, well written tribute to your mother.
You don’t know me. I am only aware of you and your family because I started following you on IG after the Olympics in order to get to know the athletes better.
May God watch over you and your family.
Annie, You don’t know me, but I’ve enjoyed checking in now and then on your path of living life at its best! I watched your hunky husband propose to you on deck..,,
Today’s sweet words for your precious Mom touched my heart! Your Mothers love for you radiates from your writing! You were both so blessed! I too suffer from unanswered questions, but trust there will be answers! Our daughter was a college freshman at Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo In 1996 when she walked home with the wrong person! The perpetrator is still free and our life mission is to bring her home and lie her to rest in the presence of God and our family! 23 years without answer is without hesitation, a lifetime! Yet, we cherish the life we have and give gratitude for the blessings that have come our way! So, NO it never gets easier and the pain is always a scar in your heart, but love shared and memories made are your and mine forever! Wrap your arms tightly around them for strength! Blessings to you and your family❤️
Author
Denise,
I cannot imagine the gravity of your longing and heartbreak. This is not a just world, but I know the one we’re destined for is. And that really is a comfort. Your endurance is inspiring. Keep fighting the good fight! Sending you the biggest hugs. xo
Love you sweet Annie. Grieving is so hard. You wish it would hurry up and go away, but it doesn’t. It changes as time goes on, but the loss remains.Eternity is alive and well! Thank heavens this isn’t our home. We have a perfect place being prepared for us as we speak.To live is Christ. To die is gain.Phil:1:21 I feel your pain as I deal with my own.We are connected by blood, but more connected in Jesus.
Author
I know you and Bob-o are grieving hard too. The world feels dimmer, but you’re right. Mama is in the brightest place! Love you guys.
Oh sweet, Annie, what a touching and beautiful sense of honesty from your big heart. I am in tears right now as I attempt to put some of my feelings down through my tears. I am a blessed woman to have had Barb as my sister for almost 33 years on this earth! What a great day it was when I met her little brother and married him. Little did I know that your momma would touch my life so profoundly, during so many seasons of my life. She knew it, too. I told her. I wrote to her and I am so grateful that I did! Tell those you love how very much they mean to you while they are on this earth to hear it. Thanks, Annie, for sharing your vulnerability with the world. As your Aunt Linda said, we are here to wrap our arms around you any time! We love you and are traveling this road of grief right along with you, in our own way. We look forward with great anticipation to the day we see one another again in Glory! Praise God, for He makes all things new! Love you!! 🙂
Author
I know you shared a special sisterhood, Aunt Jennie. I’m so grateful you wrote her! I believe I know the card you’re referring to and it was absolutely beautiful. I feel enveloped in my dear family’s love and am so very grateful for such a wise, loving support system! I love you.
Dearest Annie,
What a beautiful blog to your awesome mom. I can’t imagine the depths of your feelings. My heart aches when I think of her no longer gracing this world and I gad not seen her in years! She was just that type of person. Many blessings to you in the days and weeks ahead. With much love, Cindi
Author
Cindi,
You Geeslin ladies have been in my thoughts and prayers often, as I know you’re in the trenches right now. I’m so glad I got to see you in February, though I had not known of David’s dire circumstances. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know then. I love you, Geeslins! I read a wonderful Elisabeth Elliot book called “Suffering is Never for Nothing” that I would highly recommend. I found it comforting. xo
Several years ago, around the time you were leaving for college, I had a long, late lunch one afternoon with your mother. She was trying to work her way through some things that were perplexing for her and it concerned something she thought I could help her with. After we sat down in a dimly lit, mostly empty restaurant, it took me about thirty-seconds to realize what an incredibly gentle, loving soul she is. It took another nano-second to realize that she knew she was well loved by her God and her family. She was steeped in that knowledge. She breathed it and lived it and was determined to make love her next thing in everything she did for and with everyone she encountered.
I’ve rarely sat across a table and looked into the eyes of a human who emanated that much light and love. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you to be apart from her.
But you must know how thin the veil is between you and her, even now. Though it is you who finds herself now sitting in a shadowy place grappling with your grief, her light is still in and around you. You are and will always be steeped in it. And, just as it was that afternoon with your mother, it will be a joy to watch as you figure out your next steps with that amazing gift Barb Chandler imbued you with-straight from her Lord.
Such an exceptional tribute to your mom and beautiful look into your love for her.
Annie,
I have kept your “Fear of Being the Best” article from SwimSwam pinned to my bookmarks for ages. I read it before auditioning for the teaching license program I am about to finish. That article is something I go to many times when I feel nervous about something – it reminds me that God is with me every step of the way on this crazy journey, and whether I succeed or I fail, life goes on and He is still with me.
My grandmother was recently diagnosed with cancer, and while I know where she is going (and am very thankful for that), I’ve been struggling with the whole thing. It’s just a lot to process. Lo and behold, you post this exactly when I need it. That poem is going to go on my wall tonight, and this post is going to be bookmarked. You’ve really been a blessing to me via your writing, and I thank you for that. God bless you and your family.
Author
Brittany,
I’m so grateful you’ve found some helpful reminders of God’s faithfulness in my writing. And congrats on almost finishing your licensing! Exciting.
It’s never ever easy to hear the word “cancer” next to a loved one’s name. I’m sorry to hear of your grandmother. One hidden mercy in a grave diagnosis is knowing how precious this time is. I got to spend a lot of time with my mom in her last two years. For that, I’m grateful.
Thanks for your note and God bless you!
Oh Annie, even at age 2 I saw your sweet spirit. You were always your mama’s daughter with that giving attitude to others. Our Lord blessed you with the ability to comfort others even in your own grief. Blessings to you and yours.
Miss Prissy
A friend just sent me your post. She did it because of the title. I always say “do the next thing.” The phrase is learned in the first session of GriefShare!! It helped me so much to tell myself that in the days, weeks, and months after my husband passed away. I’m so sorry for the loss of your mother. I love the poem you shared! I hope you find comfort in the days ahead that you were with her!! Blessings