I CHRONICLE THIS EVENT
A Christian Blog on Loss and Grieving
To Not Die Inside, Week 5 of 8
emily ulman/17July25
An eight-week blog on Loss and Grieving, this is Week 5, To Not Die Inside:
Here in this passing space as I sit quietly with Mom, I study her. Her permed hair, soft and grayed all about her face, still has dark through it. Her skin, soft and pale, is lined and marked by time. We share facial and hand features.
Mom was born a feisty, Kentucky mountain girl with a special affection for children and pets. She raised a house load of little girls on home-canned garden produce, from-scratch dinners, with dessert, and hand-sewn treasures. And she did all this, with us, while attending mass, and with class, and rules, and fly-swatter smacks, all with love and laughs and prayers in abundance.
My childhood memories include being driven by her to three different local stores each grocery day, to stay on budget; every summer her sending us girls out with empty Cool Whip containers to fill them with black raspberries; and watching her dance with Dad, all smiles, at family weddings. Mom was quick to slap mouthy teenaged mouths and to remind us to stay away from the water outside, for an inability to swim water was one of her many fears. She was insistent on her privacy. And every up-in-the-night, vomiting child knew to expect Mom to suddenly be there, holding back our hair and rubbing our hotly heaving backs. That was Mom. She cared intensely and every action was an act of love and caregiving.
And here am I. My mom is dying, and I’m trying to not die a little inside along with her.
Because of Mom in my life, I feed my family from-scratch comfort meals. Because of her, I bake. I never wanted to learn to sew or can, to her displeasure. And I refused to be a face-slapper, having known the indignation on the receiving end. And because of Mom, I have a personal understanding of the significance of caregiving. And of a deep faith.
Intense loss and grieving can be all-consuming, bringing the feeling of dying inside along with our loved one. In overwhelming sorrow, heartfelt, grief can feel like a secure refuge to take to. Taking up residence here for too long though, is deceptive in its sense of security. To combat grief’s paralysis, my refuge selection matters. The One who emotionally restores, spiritually heals, it is He I choose. With Christ as my personal Refuge, I survive, turning to Him in pain expressed, trust, even gratitude and exultation, even now, even in this.
For this precious woman, Lord, to have been mothered by her and to have experienced this life with her for all my five decades; for getting to have this time to give back to her in care and personal presence, O Lord, I am thankful to You. I praise You, even in this. And I attest, I have tasted and seen that “that the Lord is good; how blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!” (Psalm 34:8 NASB).
***