Touch The Sky

Mother’s Day has carried a deeper weight for me this year.

My first really close family loss came when I was 52. I feel blessed that I was that old before we had this type of loss. At the time, I thought it was the hardest thing I would ever walk through, standing beside the love of my life as he buried his mother, and then just a couple of years later, his father. Not long after, I lost my own mom.

Each loss changed me in different ways.

The days before this Mother’s Day, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on the incredible women in my life and the impact they’ve had on my family and me.

I’ve thought about my mother-in-law and how grateful I am that she raised my husband to be the man he is,  kind, compassionate, steady, and deeply rooted in faith. She raised him in church and introduced him to a relationship with God that has become the tether our family has leaned on so many times through life’s storms.

I’ve thought about my own mom and the strength it must have taken to raise biological children alongside adopted children, navigating all the layers and challenges that came with that journey. Looking back, I’m so thankful she walked it out with love and perseverance.

I’ve reflected on my oldest daughter and what an incredible mother she is. The fun activities she creates for her girls, the way she makes meals and snacks, picture-worthy and inviting, how she teaches them to pray and memorize scripture in joyful ways, and how she quietly sacrifices, including staying up late to finish work so she can fully pour into her children during the day. Watching her mother her girls has made me grateful and so proud. Somewhere along the way, I must have done something right.

In reflection, I realized that both of my daughters’ lives in this season are a part of who I am and my testimony.

I also realized I was wrong about the hardest loss I had endured. As painful as losing our parents has been, it has not been the hardest thing I’ve ever walked through.

The hardest thing has been losing my granddaughter and watching my daughter grieve the loss of her baby. A parent should not have to bury a child.

I have heard that phrase throughout life, but until you experience it firsthand, you cannot fully understand the depth of that pain. As a grandmother, I still can’t fully experience it.

A recent post reminded me that our loved ones who have gone before us are not lost. We know where they are. They are home.  But knowing Heaven is real does not remove the ache of the empty space left behind here on earth.

Through this difficult season, I’ve watched my sweet daughter throw her anchor deep into the depths of her faith. I’ve become more thankful we raised our children in a way that was deeply rooted in God and with a relationship with Jesus, because when life completely shatters you, faith becomes the thing that holds you together.

As hard as this has been, she knows where baby Tatum is. She knows her baby is safe in the arms of Jesus, surrounded by great-grandparents and family members who have gone before her.

But grief is complicated.

Sometimes faith feels anchored firmly to the bottom of the sea… and sometimes it feels like you’re still drifting in the middle of the storm, fighting waves of emotion,  trying to trust God before the anchor fully settles. Trying to trust Him while hurting. Trying to trust Him while angry. Trying to trust Him while desperately needing the very peace only He can give.

And through all of this, I realized who the most inspirational mother in my life is … my shining star … my amazing daughter, Kendria.

The sacrifices of motherhood are already immense. But when your child has significant physical needs requiring round-the-clock care, those sacrifices multiply beyond what most people ever see.

Most moms endure sleepless nights. She endured sleepless nights and days.

Most parents schedule occasional doctor visits. She lived a life filled with 3–4 appointments every week  day.

Most couples struggle to find time together after having children. But when only 3 people can care for your medically fragile baby for even a short time, every moment becomes a sacrifice.

She poured out her life for her child.

She carried the emotional weight of watching her baby fight day and night.

And after all the love, sacrifice, exhaustion, hope, prayers, and care … her baby went home to be with the Father.

As her mother, watching her walk through this has been the hardest thing I have ever done.

I’ve watched moments where the sorrow felt so deep it was difficult for her to breathe. But I also see her fighting her way through it, because I believe sweet Tatum, surrounded by that great cloud of witnesses, would want her mama to keep going and is cheering her on.  Her mama knows this, too, and so she fights daily to move forward, to be big and strong, living out the very meaning of defiant hope.

I pray for the peace that only Jesus can bring in darkness.

I see the confidence she carries in knowing that one day she will be reunited with her daughter because of Him. I see her fighting through emotions that can change so quickly from one moment to the next.

I see her gently smile as well-meaning people, including myself, work to say the right thing and avoid the wrong one.  

Her bright eyes are a little less bright as she watches from afar others celebrate Mother’s Day, wondering what to say to her, feeling the heaviness of celebrating their own family, and wondering how to be sensitive to and what to say to her, faintly remembering that just 6 months ago, our sweet girl moved to heaven.

And I see her learning, one day at a time, that eventually the anchor of faith settles deep enough to hold steady even in the waves of grief. I see her walking out a kind of faith that many people only ever read about. I see her choosing hope, choosing love, and holding her family tightly as we together tread the waters of life.

And I am proud. I am inspired. And I am deeply blessed that she is mine.

I see her fighting the same way Tatum did. I know the story is not over because so many who have endured the unimaginable loss of a child have eventually found their way into the fullness of peace and joy again … and have received a harvest of healing, purpose, and prosperity in every area of life.

So today, I honor all moms.

My mom.

My mother-in-law.

My daughter, Cyrae.

And my walking testimony, Kendria. You are loved.
You are seen.
God is with you.
His presence surrounds you.

And Mama is here, praying for you, loving you, and continually speaking over you: “Peace of God.”