What My Mom Knew
I want to talk about it.
I keep anchoring to that truth as I deal with the sadness and grief of losing my Mom.
She died on May 1st. I have never grieved something of this magnitude, and it’s easy to worry that I am grieving in the “wrong way.”
But what I know is true, and what I know is right, is that I want to talk about it. Talking helps me process my emotions. But more importantly, talking about my Mom honors her legacy and it helps me remember. To that end, below is what I shared about my Mom at her Celebration of Life.
Ask me about it.
Tell me how it made you feel.
Tell me what you learned about my Mom from these words.
Ask me anything, because I want to talk about it and I want to remember my Mom.
Eleven days before my Mom died from an inoperable hemorrhage on her brain stem, I wrote these words.
This is the power of death. Death in the physical form, yes, but also death of the false narratives that we think bring us life. For me that was control, enough-ness, success in all things. All of those were shattered to pieces in one day at Central DuPage Hospital, and yet incredible beauty followed as I was able to hold and experience life with my son. I believe I am a better father, a better human being, because I have accepted that one day I will die. And I know the same fate will find those I love the most.
What remains is everything a machine cannot do. Suffer and yet persist. Love someone you might lose. Choose to move forward in the face of fear. These are not the leftovers of the human experience. They are what make us who we are. The person who has come face to face with their own limitations and the reality of death is the person who understands what it truly means to be human. They are the person who will never be replaced. Not because the information they collected is rare, but because the formation they have experienced is real.
Reading those words, two weeks removed from the deepest sorrow and grief of my life, is oddly settling. Not because it was prophetic or a fateful prediction, but because it was an acknowledgment that this human experience is broken and death is the culmination of the brokenness. And while the grief of this tragedy brings me to my knees time and time again, I also know that I am not the first, nor will I be the last, to taste the bitterness of this broken world.
For much of my life, I was uncomfortable at funerals. The unease stemmed from not knowing what to say. Put me in front of a grieving parent, child, sibling, or spouse and I felt helpless. What can one say?
Sitting on the other side of that exchange today, I can confidently tell you there is nothing to say. Human nature is to use words to soften the blow, find the silver lining, lessen the pain. But the reality of death is full of pain. And there is only one way through that pain. The way is through. Not around, not under, but through. That is how we honor my Mom. That is how we honor her beautiful life. And that is how we honor our own emotions.
God does not waste anything. Over the last two weeks, I have seen such beauty in my Mom’s passing. Friends weeping with us as we encounter the newest wave of grief. A community rallying around a family in need. Countless opportunities to share what I believe to be the most important part of my Mom’s life. The fact that she is now in heaven, in the presence of her Savior, Jesus Christ. This is the formation that death brings. And I believe it is the most beautiful part of being human.
Growing up, my Mom would often share that “life’s not fair and you should be thankful it’s not”. Goodness that frustrated me as a young man. Whether it was sports, academics, relationships, or anything else high school boys get frustrated about, Mom always stayed firmly rooted in her belief that life’s not fair. Now, don’t misunderstand, certainly there are so many with deeply challenging circumstances, but just to be born and to take a breath today and to feel the sun on your skin is a miracle of magnitudes we cannot compute. But sometimes that knife cuts the other way — it doesn’t feel fair that my Mom’s life was cut short. It doesn’t feel fair that she died four weeks before my wife is due to give birth to our fourth son. It doesn’t feel fair that my Dad has to rebuild his life with a gapping hole at the center that he cannot fill. None of that is fair.
But what my Mom knew was that the greatest injustice was not something that happened to us but what has been done for us.
Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God, who lived a perfect life, died on the cross to pay the price for my Mom’s life, for my life, and for your life. What my Mom knew deep in her soul was that through His death and resurrection he has given us the opportunity of true freedom in this life and in the next.
So standing before you today, I have hope.
I have hope for the future. I have hope knowing that I will see my Mom again one day. It doesn’t take away the pain - I miss my Mom a lot. But the pain has been redeemed, it has been bought for a price, and it draws me closer to the same Savior that my Mom followed so faithfully for all of her days.